


Sherlock's second chance

by Lionessinthedark



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (sort of), AU, Aftermath of Torture, Awesome Mrs. Hudson, Awkwardness, Culverton-Smith has been dealt with, Erinye, First Kiss, M/M, Magic, Mary is gone, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of child-death, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, Parallel Universes, Post Mary, Post TAB, Post-Season/Series 03 Fix-It, Rough Sex, Sex, Sherlock's scars, Slow Burn, Time Travel, ancient gods, bdsm undertones, holmescest, mentions of abuse, mentions of torture, not season 4 compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-08-16 21:50:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 51,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8118769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lionessinthedark/pseuds/Lionessinthedark
Summary: Look at the notes in the beginning. There was not enough room here for it. A fix-it story and based on set-lock pictures from before season 4. 'We' got it totally wrong. The 'lady in red' was not 'Harry' or anyone else we knew from before. But it gave me an idea....and the story began from there.





	1. A meeting and an offer

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by things we have seen on Setlock4 and in the trailer for season4 and I was inspired by this post (not made by me, but it was easier to find in on my own tumblr): http://gryssenielsen.tumblr.com/post/149141096552/sherlock-dies-again-his-threefold-death  
> From the post:  
>  _”This reminds me of the erinyes (the greek female deities of vengance, ‘those who beneath the earth punish whosoever has sworn a false oath’. (x) And as we are already mixing Sherlock with Doctor Who: the erinyes are described by Strabo as: “People who wear black cloaks, go clad in tunics that reach to their feet… walk with canes…”_  
>  And..  
> ”… but sorry, WALK WITH CANES?  
> Oh, Sherlock, what have you done? Are you dragged to hell by a fury with a cane?” __
> 
> __  
> _(And then the picture from Setlock where the lady in read and with her head hooded, is walking beside Sherlock holding a cane in her hand) (I can't figure out how to add a picture)_  
>   
> 
> __  
> _And I had an urge to make another ‘Johnlock season 3 fix-it’. So this story was in my head (and I’m very fond of AUs.....at least AUs with a bit of magic and parallel universes._  
>  And I do not own the characters and I am not a native speaker (writer)...so I apologize beforehand for my mistakes.  
> I've sometimes used the transcripts from arianedevere.livejournal. And a big thanks to her for her huge work. Without that, things would have been more difficult.  
>  
> 
> __  
> _So...here we start:_  
> 

Sherlock was staggering through the streets of London very early in the morning. He had just managed to get out of Culverton Smith's hospital, where he had been treated for an unknown tropical disease. Or was it tropical at all?

Of course not. Not with Culverton Smith involved.

If Sherlock hadn’t been so curious...if he had just accepted......

And now everything was falling apart. He was infected and John was. Mary and little Mina were too and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. And one tenth of London’s population it seemed. Mycroft wasn’t though and he was trying to keep London...yeah and the rest of England from falling apart. And keeping the illness away from the rest of England and Europe. Military prevented people leaving and entering London and a state of emergency had been declared.

And.It.Was.Sherlock’s.Fault.All.Of.It!

Sherlock groaned and bend himself in half. The pain!...

He had to get his mind clear. Thank God he had finally got a suspicion and had avoided getting more ‘medication’ into his veins and mouth. He had finally been so clear in his head that he had noticed that he got a different treatment than the other patients in the ward. He had managed to conceal the pills under his tongue and spit them out and after that he hoped that his mattress didn’t mind the IV-fluids when he had removed the IV-needle from his own arm as he got clear enough in his head, and had inserted the needle into the mattress.

Then he had managed to sneak out of his room, jam the alarm-system and now he was walking through the streets of London very early in the morning. Heading for Baker Street and his laboratory equipment there. He didn’t dare go to Bart’s. Culverton would have spies there.....maybe even Molly. It had taken Sherlock such a long time to look through Molly’s facade. But of course...it was so obvious. Afterwards.

She had dated ‘Jim from IT’ after all. She had not been targeted by snipers as Sherlock had had to jump after Moriarty had killed himself and she had slapped him hard, after had had been found by John in that drug den instead of offering her help after John and Marry had been on their honeymoon. What kind of treatment was it to slap a friend after he had relapsed?

Sherlock hadn’t relapsed of course, but how could she had known? Everybody ‘bought’ it...even John. And not a word from her after he had returned and worked on the Moriarty-case after the plane had landed again after his 5 minutes exile.

Sherlock’s sub-consciousness and Mind Palace had warned him after all, with that strange, cold and dangerous Molly disguised as a man and as an ‘abominable bride’, who was a part of the conspiracy. A conspiracy that had nothing to do with the ‘suffragettes’ from the real history. The real suffragette-movement could only be admired by Sherlock. But the bunch of ‘Abominable Brides’ that his mind had invented...they were just a bunch of murderers, even if the men they murdered were arseholes.

He just wondered why his mind had chosen to connect that murderous assembly of abominable brides, who had Moriarty as the head, with a group of women who fought for their rights? And that fat Mycroft from his Mind-palace. His mind had decided to connect him with those murderous brides too. Why? What was his mind trying to tell him? That Mycroft had worked with Moriarty?

Oh God...he needed to be able to think! He was a chemist...he had to find something against that Culverton-disease. It wasn’t lethal right away, but oh so costly to cure and Sherlock was convinced that he was to blame for at least some of the contaminations. At least the contamination of his friends.

Again the pain hit Sherlock so he had to stagger. There was a bus stop nearby and Sherlock managed it to the bench before he almost collapsed on top of it. Oh God. He was so tired.....but he had to reach Baker Street. He had to start working on an antidote. The sooner the better. He just had to rest......just for a second....

Sherlock closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the glass wall of the bus stop. Just resting....just a few seconds.

With his eyes closed he heard someone approaching and almost groaned. He did most certainly not need any company now.

He felt the person sit down on the bench beside him, but he had no energy to acknowledge the presence...and especially not with any kind of greeting.

“You look terrible” a female voice sounded and continued, “well that is to be expected when you are dying, Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock almost panicked and opened his eyes and was ready to bolt, if he had not been so exhausted. Now the adrenaline just made him groan and he looked at the woman with panic in his eyes.

“No need to panic, Sherlock Holmes. I’m not one of Culverton’s people. Quite contrary actually...”

“Who are you?..” managed Sherlock to say with a hoarse voice. It felt somehow as if he was dreaming.

The woman didn’t answer the question immediately but did just offer Sherlock some fish and chips, “Eat! You’ll need the energy!”

And it showed Sherlock’s level of exhaustion that he just obeyed and immediately felt at least some energy return to his body.

 

The woman looked away from Sherlock as she too ate some of the chips and then she turned towards him and ordered, “Look at me, Sherlock Holmes and tell me who I am!”

 

Sherlock, who now had more energy and didn’t feel so ill anymore, turned his attention towards her and looked carefully at her...and then he saw it...

“You are not a human...” he said.

 

“No I’m not. But what am I then?” she smiled at him.

 

He looked even more carefully and remembered his lessons of Greek History, where their teachers had taught him and Mycroft about Greek mythology.

“I’m utterly mad. I’ve finally snapped,” Sherlock said and continued, “..because you do not exist. You look like an Erinye, but they do not exist. You are just a figment of human imagination.”

She shook her head, “No. We...the Greek Gods...are real enough. So what is the explanation then?”

Sherlock was silent for a moment and then offered his opinion that had to be the truth, however impossible it was, “Aliens?!”

She smiled, “No...Aliens would be sentient beings from _your_ Universe. I’m from a parallel world. Your scientists have even predicted the existence of parallel universes. Stephen Hawking, the Danish Holger Bech Nielsen and a lot of others. And they are right. Multi-verses exist. Side by side. Almost never touching. But sometimes portals are open between our worlds and ‘travellers’ come through.”

Sherlock just looked at her and decided that he had gone totally mad.


	2. A meeting and an offer, second part

Sherlock said it out loud, “This is it. I’m totally bonkers. The drugs Culverton gave me have finally worked!”

The Erinye smiled again and her strange eyes, almost cat-like, that had showed Sherlock that she wasn’t a human, sparkled, “Come on, Sherlock Holmes. You don’t even believe that yourself. And you have said that yourself so often: _when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth._

We, the travellers, the visitors from the other parallel universes; we are the explanation of the ancient gods in Greece, the ancient gods in Egypt, the Nordic gods from Scandinavia. The Aztec gods and the gods of the Incas, who learned them to make stones soft. How on Earth do you think that such primitive cultures with knifes and tools of bronze could build like they did? How the ancient Egyptians could build pyramids with such precision? Every group of gods are travellers from other parallel universes. Look back in your human history, Sherlock Holmes, and whenever you meet gods, it is us travellers from different universes....”

Sherlock shook his head as he searched his Mind Palace for evidence, “How...how could we not see?”, he asked.

“Because you chose not to. And because our visits have not always been according to the rules we have to obey. There are powers above us....”

Sherlock interrupted, shaken to the inner core of his scientific self, that ‘gods’ actually existed, “Someone above you? God himself?!”

She smiled again, “Not just one ‘God’, but several gods....and finally above it all the very creator of the universe. The Universe didn’t just emerge of its own. It was created.....but a mind so huge that it could think the universe into existence, need vassal-kings to rule it all. Even if that being is omnipotent. It has to obey its own rules...or the Universe would cease to exist. I’m sorry to offend you, Sherlock Holmes, but ‘Humans’ is a rather young race. And you are on a low ‘level’. We are sent here to guard, to guide, to teach you and help you to a higher level. Sometimes by punishing unwanted behaviour...”

“I see..”, said Sherlock and continued, “And you have come to punish...me? I do remember that the Erinyes drag the unworthy to hell. Those who had let their friends down and those who are cowards....”

She looked at him, “And do those descriptions fit you? Are you a coward and have you let down your friends? Betrayed them?”

Sherlock frowned, “You really want me to humiliate myself by saying it out loud? But have it your way. I’m hardly in a position to protest. Yes...I have been a coward. I have let my friends down. I have betrayed their trust in me. So yes...I suppose I am unworthy and deserve punishment...”

She smiled and reached out her hand as she got up and showed with a gesture that Sherlock should rise too, “Then come with me. Doing it voluntarily will ease your path a bit. And I’m going to make you an offer. Die here in this world....leave your body behind and become a servant in my world. And I’ll save your friends....So what is your answer?”

Sherlock rose and took her hand, “If you offer to save my friends from my stupidity, the answer is easy. If my death can buy them their lives back, I will not hesitate. My answer is yes. But use the right word for my...my services. Not a ‘servant’, but a ‘slave’ I suppose.”

And Sherlock thought to himself _“Who is going to miss me? Not Mycroft. I have ruined so much for him...not Mrs Hudson, even if she is the only one, who is going to miss me a bit. Not Lestrade...I haven’t solved a decent case for ages. And most certainly not John. He has Mary and most importantly he has little Minna. And we haven’t been in touch for long...not for real. And John did choose Mary. I told him to, to keep him safe. But he chose her and not me. Because why should he choose me?”_

The Erinye nodded and took her cane, “You are right. Humans make excellent slaves in my world. Then come with me. Sometimes the portals between the worlds open up easily, like a door, but it is not here and not now. We’ll have to walk in a special pattern to wear the ‘curtain’ between our worlds thin...”

“I see..”, said Sherlock, “I do remember something like that, written by some of our science fiction writers. It could have been Lovecraft or Bradbury...”

Then Sherlock frowned and asked, “Why are you limping, if I may ask? And wouldn’t it make it hard to walk?”

“Oh..I’m not worried about me, “she said, “I’m limping because I have to wear boots to hide my cat-paws. But you have been close to dying and even if I gave you ambrosia and nectar disguised as fish’n’chips, you are still ill.”

“I’ll manage...even if I’ll have to crawl the rest of the way...”said Sherlock.

______________________

And like that they began their walk through the streets and places of Sherlock’s beloved London. They even walked a part of Baker Street and did stand under the sunblinds of Speedy’s café as the rain got too heavy at a point.

And after the rain stilled a bit, they continued their walk. While walking they talked a lot. About Sherlock’s and Mycroft’s relationship. About Sherrinford, their eldest brother (more about him later)...and about Moriarty and his promise to ‘burn Sherlock’s heart out’. They talked about John...and about Mary and why Sherlock had chosen to forgive Mary and kill Magnussen. They talked about the things Sherlock had had to do while he was dismantling Moriarty’s network all over the world and how he had returned to London to something different than he had imagined. They talked about Magnussen and the return of the false Moriarty and the dramatic birth of little Minna and how John and Sherlock had drifted apart... and finally Sherlock and the Erinye were almost back to where they started.

______________________

And there, standing on the bridge, Sherlock felt a terrible pain in his stomach and fell down on the ground with a loud groan.

The Erinye just stood there watching...and as Sherlock fell to the ground, she waited a few minutes before she touched him and said, “It is now.”

And Sherlock rose and went with her, but did leave his body behind. Sherlock Holmes’ body was lying on the pavement even if Sherlock Holmes followed her. And he didn’t even look back.

And then...just before they entered her world...Sherlock could actually see it as if it was just behind some frosted glass....she reached her hand out and stopped him.

“Go back to your body, Sherlock Holmes”, she said.

Sherlock looked at her with confusion, “You are not going to keep your promise to save my friends?”

She smiled again, “I’m going to save them...and a lot of others. But I’m not going to punish you. We Erinyes do not normally punish heroes. We reward them!”

“But...but I’m not a hero!” stuttered Sherlock.

“You are. Believe me, Sherlock Holmes. I recognize a hero when I see one. And you are a hero.”

Sherlock frowned and made a gesture that somehow included all of London, “Then why this? Why all that walking and talking? I do not understand!”

She smiled again and now Sherlock did notice her feline teeth, “And you hate when you do not understand. I’ll explain. But go back to your body...even if it is going to be painful. You are not in mortal danger from Culverton’s treatment, but you are still very ill and I’ll prefer to bring you to my world to cure you, before I explain everything.”


	3. Explanations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Erinye talks a lot and so much is explained...
> 
> (And the Peruvian cone-heads are a real thing. Try to google it. One of Earth's mysteries...)

Sherlock returned to his body and immediately felt the pain and the extreme weakness again and that was why he hardly noticed as the Erinye dragged him along and he staggered into her world. She was strong and the only reason for her limping was that she had to disguise her feet, so she could easily support him.

He came to his senses as she again offered him something to drink and eat and he felt the strength return to his body. Sherlock looked around and saw nothing but a meadow and above that a slight turquoise sky. They were sitting on the grass on something that resembled a blanket, but was softer.

“This is your world?”, he asked.

“No not quite...it is a sort of in-between. My world has roads and cities and factories as well. It is rather similar to yours and has had a similar development. We are just several hundred of thousand years ahead of you.”

She then smiled at Sherlock and said, “I’m going to get rid of my boots. They are killing my feet..”

Sherlock smiled back, “That is something a human woman could have said too.”

And Sherlock looked in fascination as she revealed her almost cat-like feet and legs.

The scientist in him got curious and he asked, “How long does your fur go? Because you have human-like hands and no fur on your face?”

“You are rather rude, you know.”

“No, no just curious...and I’m truly sorry if I offended you. I didn’t intend to.”, said Sherlock and actually looked a bit embarrassed.

“Well...up to my knees. The rest is more or less human-like. Or rather ‘Turlian’-like, because that is what we are..Turlians...and we had smooth hairless skin and cities and newspapers as you were still hopping around as furred apes in the jungle, Sherlock Holmes.”

He just looked at her and smiled and she forgave him immediately. She wasn’t immune to his charm either.

She looked away and took a deep breath. This was going be difficult. A lot of species had made a lot of mistakes and left the young human race to deal with something they weren’t ‘old’ enough to handle. Almost as asking children to live an adult life.

“This is going to be a bit difficult for me, “she said, “..because it is so difficult to admit failures. And especially failures that have cost humans so much suffering and trouble. The good thing, though, is that it is going to be corrected now.”

She touched Sherlock’s arm, “And I’m afraid that you are one of the victims of our neglect. But it goes even further back in time.”

She took another breath and began:

“First I’ll have to explain that portals do open on several planets in several worlds and the species on those planets and from those worlds are duty-bound to help younger races to develop. The portals are actually a mystery and we do not control them. We are supposed to be guards, guides, teachers and sometimes punishers to help the younger races to reach a higher level. That is why a lot of species came to earth and became ‘gods’, as I told you before. They came from different worlds.”

“I do remember....“, said Sherlock and continued with a smirk, “I might have been drugged and very ill, but my memory did function...”

She smiled and continued, “Several hundred of thousands of years ago there was a race living on a planet, not so totally different from Earth. They had the ability of flying, but otherwise they looked quite a lot like humans apart from their wings. Which actually isn’t that strange since the Creator of the Universe used the same basic materials when ‘he’ created the basics for all life. Gender is irrelevant when you talk about beings on a higher level than us.....even us Turlians, but you Humans are used to call God a ‘him’, so I’ll continue to do that.

There were and are still two big continents on that aforementioned planet. One almost shaped like a prolonged lemon, with a very big middle part and only small areas of land at the ends. Thus giving a very big part of the continent a very pleasant climate.

The other continent is shaped like a prolonged hourglass and it means that the area, where the climate is pleasant, is very limited.

Over time the race developed in two directions and one race seized the power over the pleasant continent and exiled the other race on the other. That caused the race to actually divide into two almost separate species.

One species became very fair and beautiful. They were the first to visit Earth. You have them even described in one of your holy books. They were tall and with white wings...and halos...”

And she stopped talking and looked at Sherlock, who nodded, “I suppose you are talking about ‘angels’”, he said.

She nodded, “The portals sometimes alter us. Enhances our mental ‘signature’, making kind ones even kinder, smart ones even smarter and they alter our appearances too, to something closer to the beings we are visiting. Then....so many hundreds of thousands of years ago.....the portals weren’t’ so efficient and didn’t alter so much. Sometimes causing to scare the inhabitants of the planets visited out of their minds..”

Sherlock nodded again and said, “That is why the angels said ’fear not’ and the descriptions of angles could be rather distressing. Multiple wings and eyes all over...”

“Precisely....and please be a bit more patient, because I’m going to reveal why this ‘tale of two races and their planet’ is relevant to you.”, she continued.

Sherlock nodded again. He was fascinated and had a vague idea why she was telling him that...as he remembered something he once had said to a man, and that had made that man kill himself..

She continued, “For a long time the only portals opening on that planet, were on the ‘mild’ continent...and remember I told that the portals changed the beings. On their own planet those ‘angels’ were...well...arseholes...towards the other species. The other species had to alter themselves in appearance to be able to survive on their continent. They got darker and thicker skin, from bright red to pitch black. Their wings became darker too and some had even wings that resembled those of the bats on earth. And they had all horns on their heads so they could defend themselves.”

Sherlock interrupted, “Devils?...”

The Erinye nodded and continued, ”Let me give you an example how the ‘angels’ were cruel arseholes: That they still were one species was actually shown as angel-parents could sometimes have a devil-baby. And they would put that child into an orphanage and tell the devils to come and fetch it after 3 months. On the other hand devil-parents could give birth to an angel-child, but as the angels didn’t want it before the 3 months had passed, such a child would often die, even if the devils begged the angels to come at fetch it before the 3 months had passed. The angels referred to the ‘3-month-rule’ but it was something they themselves had invented. The devil-parents would rather give up their child early to give it a chance to survive. But the angels would refuse to listen.”

“I see.“, said Sherlock.

“And now we come to our mistakes.“, the Erinye said.

“All we higher ranking species are a part of a council. Some of the species in this council are very much above us Turlians, but we try to work as a unit. We do keep an eye on the younger races and keep an eye on the races passing through the portals. And we failed you Humans terribly.”

She took a deep breath and continued, “Your Atlantis wasn’t a myth. It was more than hundred islands....volcanic islands...situated on the Atlantic ridge. From Iceland, which is the only one remaining and far the biggest of the islands, all the way down to the Southern Atlantic Ocean. ‘Angles’ had come through portals and had helped developing a very advanced culture. Advanced in genetic engineering, development of mental abilities and in technology...”

“Genetic engineering?..” did Sherlock interrupt.

“They made a priesthood who had huge mental abilities....”

Sherlock frowned and suddenly he understood, “The Peruvian cone-heads...” , he whispered.

The Erinye nodded, “It worked, but was a genetic failure. The mothers often died giving birth and the children were fragile. But those who survived were very powerful. But to make a long story short: portals were opened after hundreds of years and ‘devils’ came through with their hatred and bitterness and a war broke out. ‘Angels’ versus ‘devils’ and they had no regard for the humans who ended up between the two groups of combatants. The ridge ended up being torn open and swallowed all the islands. Very few survivors managed to escape in boats to the southern American continent and became later the Aztecs and others managed to sail to Africa and became the ancient Egyptians. And both groups were later visited by other ‘gods’ and helped to develop. At that time they had only fragments of knowledge and myths left. And the volcanic eruptions had destroyed the portals so efficiently that they didn’t open up from that specific planet until several thousand of years later. And the council didn’t notice but thought the catastrophe had natural causes.”

She looked at the blanket for a while before she continued, “And we kept on ignoring what happened on Sargadon, the planet of angels and devils, and kept on ignoring when portals opened and angles and devils came through to Earth at the same time. Our excuse could be that it was the first time we saw to species on the same planet have so much hatred and animosity towards each other, but we should have intervened so much earlier. Both on Sargadon and on Earth.”

Sherlock frowned, “I do not quite understand what all this has to do with us...me....and my situation?”

She smiled a sad smile, “You are going to understand. Be a bit more patient, please...”

“I’ll listen..”, said Sherlock.

“Angels came through 2014 years ago. They were needed as the council wanted to start a new religion on Earth as the old one had gone a bit astray...”

“Christianity? Jesus?”

“Yes, but the council had not expected humans to kill him....”

“But it started a new religion after all. Was he human?”

She shook her head, “No...the miracles were real enough. He was a being from a higher level...and accepted to be a human...almost... and he accepted his death, because as things had developed it was the only way to proceed....just like you, Sherlock.”

He shook his head, “I’m not religious and religion has sometimes been very destructive and limiting. But I’m not a hero and I’m not like Jesus...at all.”

She smiled, “You share more similarities, than you think, Sherlock...and you are a hero. Prepared to die to safe your friends. That is what heroes do.”

Sherlock just shook his head. He didn’t agree with the Erinye.

“Things were all right for a while on Earth.”, told the Erinye. “At least regarding the portals and the ‘angels’ and ‘devils’. You had your fare share of wars and catastrophes. But nothing that threatened the existing of your species. And then...for no reason at all... portals opened up on the ‘harsh’ continent and several hundred ‘devils’ saw a chance to escape to Earth. The situation on Sargadon had gone from bad to worse and they wanted to escape. The council is ‘repairing’ that now....but far too late. And we understand why the ‘devils’ are so bitter. The ‘angels’ are being forced to share their land with the ‘devils’ and a lot of efforts are put into making the ‘harsh’ continent more inhabitable. Just like you humans can live on Antarctica and in the Arctic if you have to.”

Sherlock asked, “You have learned from us?”

She smiled, “You might have been apes only ‘yesterday’ but you are one of the most inventive races in this Galaxy. You went from petroleum-lamps to Moon-landings in less than 70 years. And from abacus’ to computers in the same time-frame. You are actually a bit scaring.”

She looked down at her hands before she continued, “But that is no excuse for ignoring your troubles for such a long time. From 1212 until 1595 more than one hundred ‘devils’ came through the portals and did hide on Earth. Not at all trying to follow the rules, but almost punishing you for looking a bit like the ‘angels’. The ‘devils’ let their hatred and anger loose on humans. If you look at human history in those years, you can find their ‘fingerprints’. Every time you find a cruel ruler, a reckless king, a leader without mercy....it would be one of them.  A lot of sorcerers and witches were them too. Cursing and harming humans whenever they could. At the end, as the portals came close to closing, you humans found a way to get rid of the ‘devils’. Surrounding them with fire would force them back to their planet, but unfortunately you did burn some innocent people at the same time too. And a few devils remained and kept a very low profile. They managed to hide their alien nature and could interbreed with humans. Their descendants still live on Earth....”

She paused and looked at Sherlock and continued, “Their descendants are often, but not always, tall and beautiful or handsome. Very beautiful. And so much above average in intelligence. A lot of them have other abilities too. They can be very persuasive or skilled in other ways......At least if they contain more than 40% ‘devil’-DNA. And we are now going to take them ‘back’ to Sargadon, because they do not belong here on Earth. They are too destructive....”

And she paused...and finally Sherlock understood. “I’m such a descendant...”, he said in a very low voice before he looked at her with worry in his eyes...


	4. A second chance

She looked at him and said, “Yes..You are such a descendant, and it explains your resilience: why you didn’t die in Serbia or when Mary shot you or when Culverton tried to poison you. It explains your intelligence and other remarkable talents. But don’t worry. I’m not going to take you away from the surface of Earth. You were tested, both by life and recently by me and you have passed the test in flying colours...as have a few other descendants. Others have failed and are being removed right know...”

“To ‘Hell on Earth’ on Sargadon, I presume?”

Was it somehow pity she could hear in Sherlock’s voice?

“No. Not to ‘Hell’. Because the living-conditions on Sargadon have improved a lot. There is actually room enough on the ‘mild’ continent for almost everybody...and the ‘angels’ are being forced to share. They would not live a life in decadent luxury anymore...and soldiers from other species have been posted to ensure peace. It is not going to be easy to forget hatred and animosity and prejudice over night. But descendants here on Earth with more than 30% foreign DNA, would have a much better life on Sargadon. Here on Earth it is often difficult for them to survive puberty. Risky behaviour and drugs do diminish their numbers significantly. A lot commit suicide too. Their minds do not fit on Earth. And remember: the portals did change them in a bad way, making them worse and even more un-fit for life on Earth...”

They sat in silence and she offered Sherlock more of the food and drink with a gesture and he accepted with a smile and a nod.

He nodded, “Puberty wasn’t easy for me and drugs were tempting. I only used at two occasions though, even if I found it very appropriate to let my bother assume that I had done more than that. My needle-marks were fake and it is very easy to make a false-positive test, when you pee in a jar. You just need to have a very small amount of drug on your fingers. The only thing I’ve used more frequently was small amounts of Amphetamines and Benzedrines...and that mostly when I was ‘away’. I hate losing control and I did that when I tried to ‘numb’ my mind and I found other ways than drugs.”

“Why did you want to let Mycroft believe that you were using...and even John and Mary?” wanted the Erinye to know.

Sherlock smiled, “Then people...my brother and others...stop investigating further, because now they ‘have found the explanation’. And believe me. With a brother like Mycroft it is better to let him believe that he has found a ‘useless’ pressure point on you, than having him finding the real ones. My brother would give his life to protect England and the Queen, but sometimes his methods can be a bit ominous....and he has forced me more than once to ’do him a favour’ and work for ‘The Intelligence’....and ‘England’.”

And then Sherlock frowned and asked, “Are you going to remove my brother? Because I suppose that he contains just as much foreign DNA as I do......and if I have to be totally honest he has a very dark side. Not when we were children, but most certainly as an adult....”

She smiled, “We are going to remove your brother. But not Mycroft, unless you want us to. We are going to remove a brother of yours ...your brother Sherrinford!”

Sherlock looked at her and shook his head, “But he is dead!”

She answered, “No he is not, and you should know how it is possible faking being dead. He didn’t die. Just disappeared.....and did wreak havoc on your life for a long time.”

“I...I do not understand....”

“Before John shot the cabbie and you stepped on his wound and tortured him to reveal the person, who had hired him, he said ....” _they’re so much more than that.... There’s a name no-one says, an’ I’m not gonna say it either.”_...and yet he said the name ‘Moriarty’. In the moment just before he died he mentioned a name. The name of a ‘vassal-king’ of the hidden man, but Jeff didn’t dare to say the real name...or the name, the man was known as. “The Black Widower”. It sounds like some cheap comic figure, but Sherrinford was known as ‘The Black Widower’. The criminal who was controlling Eastern Europe and parts of Asia too. The man who was even more of a genius than Jim Moriarty. The only man who could match Mycroft Holmes and Sherlock Holmes in brilliance. Their own brother Sherrinford Holmes!”

“I see, “ said Sherlock and continued, “No wonder I failed in ruining his organisation.”

The last part was said with a sad smile.

She shook her head, “You didn’t fail. You almost ruined everything for him. That is why he had to stop you in Serbia and ordered his second in command, Baron Maupertuis, to apprehend you and break you but not kill you.....And why he had to fake that Moriarty-video. Sherrinford couldn’t risk that you returned to Serbia. You almost succeeded in ruining his organisation the last time.”

She stopped and looked at Sherlock before she continued, “Are you aware that Mycroft could have intervened before and could have gotten you out of Serbia earlier?”

Sherlock gave her a quick glance before he looked away and down on his hands, “I had a suspicion because I accused him of enjoying seeing me being beaten. I deduced something about him, but was too dizzy to really notice or contemplate about what I had discovered.....but I do remember now....every horrid detail. Even what that other man did to me before Mycroft arrived. Was it Sherrinford who did that to me?”

“It was.”

“And he had made a deal with Mycroft?”

She was silent for a moment before she continued, “Yes he had. Your brother Mycroft has a very dark side, just like you, but in him it sticks its head out from time to time. And you must know that it is just a word from you, and he will be transferred to. He has hurt you so much, Sherlock.......and the way he feels about you is ....’very inappropriate’ could be a very diplomatic way to say it....”

Her voice trailed off and she looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at her, took a deep breath before he continued, “He was the best brother I could wish for. As long as Sherrinford wasn’t there. Mycroft protected me, taught me and was the only one who could understand me and soothe me, when I was a child. But Mycroft changed after he had attended boarding school and later went to the University.....and came in contact with Sherrinford again...”

He looked at her, “But I suppose you know what happened?”

She shook her head, “No I don’t...I came into your world in 2020 and can’t go further back than now in 2013. I just know what I’ve learned about Sherrinford now, but nothing of your childhood or why he faked his death.”

Sherlock looked out into the distance before he began to explain, “Sherrinford was Mummy’s and Father’s first child. And having him made mother take the decision to stop working at the university. Then only two and a half years later Mycroft was born. Sherrinford was a bright child but not a genius like Mycroft and Sherrinford was sent to Kindergarten as Mycroft stayed at home with the nanny. And yes...we had a nanny. My parents are aristocracy, even if they do not live in their mansion (it is a hotel now) and even if they are only country squires and never use their title and they don’t have a very big family fortune but have earned their money by hard work and lucky investments. My mother is a skilled mathematician after all and can spot good investments long time before others.

Sherrinford and Mycroft were very close and I’ve heard that they had been quite a mouthful until they discovered reading and got occupied with that.  Despite the 2 and a half year gap, Mycroft did gain on Sherrinford and they attended Kindergarten and preschool, and later ordinary school, with only one year apart. Mycroft had the height and the language of a much older child so no one noticed that he was so much younger. And then I was born when Mycroft was seven and Sherrinford almost ten.

I’ve been told that I was a difficult child and that I cried a lot until they finally found out that if I was supposed to sleep it should be in a dark and relatively cold room and wrapped in a soft blanket. No one knew about ‘Highly sensitive’ children then, but that was what I was. Scent, taste, light, touch could easily overwhelm me and Mycroft was the only one who understood me and observed ways to help me cooping. As Sherrinford left for boarding school, and yes...it was at Harrow’s, Mycroft was kept home from boarding school.....because our little sister had been born.

She was so fragile. And now I understand why. The foreign genes in father and mother must have made an ‘angel’-child this time. She was so beautiful...a porcelain-doll, the little Alexandra and father and mother was in and out of hospitals those years. Leaving Mycroft and me to our nannies. Mycroft thought I was an idiot since I, at the age of 3, could only read English and French, didn’t understand Euclid and only spoke 3 languages. He could do so much more.

When I was put in Kindergarten at the age of 3 I was bullied and the decision was made, after Mycroft had found be bleeding and crying on the playground long after the school-day had ended, that both he and I should be home-tutored. A wonderful woman was found and as she quickly found out that Mycroft had hidden his abilities and I wasn’t an idiot, we were finally allowed to learn whatever we wanted to. We were like two sponges and sucked up knowledge so fast that other teachers were called and it was heaven for us two boys. But not in the school holidays where Sherrinford would come home and I was pushed away from Mycroft. I quickly learned to keep away from them. Mycroft was totally different when Sherrinford was around.

When Mycroft turned 14, Sherrinford was at his last year at Harrow’s and Mycroft was sent there too to finish his education. Now it was my turn to take care of a younger sibling and I read so many stories for Alexandra. She loved Tolkien and was very fond of Astrid Lindgren’s The Brothers Lionheart. She often talked about Nangijala and Nangilima and that she would see us all there.”

Sherlock paused a moment before he continued, “She died as I was reading ‘The Hobbit’ for the umpteenth time and I had reached the point in the story where Bilbo had returned to the Shire. She had sighed and said that it must have been wonderful to come home like that...and then she stopped talking. I thought she had fallen asleep.....”

He looked at the Erinye and said, “I didn’t speak for two months. I survived on tea and biscuits and was curled up in my bed the most of the time. Until they gave me a dog to look after. He was my best friend the next 5 years, until he got cancer and had to be put down. I felt very guilty because I hadn’t discovered in time that he had such a disease.”

Sherlock paused a bit before he continued, and the Erinye didn’t want to interrupt.

Sherlock then explained further, “Mycroft had left for University....Oxbridge.....only a year after Sherrinford and I was supposed to go to Harrow’s just like Mycroft and Sherrinford had done. But mother kept me home and I was 14 before I went to Harrow’s to finish my last year. At that time I had learned to hide my intelligence and to use it to keep others from bullying me. I gained no friends, but was left alone. And finally I could attend a University as well at the age of 16. I did choose Camford though, even if both Mycroft and Sherrinford had left Oxbridge and was now working for the government.”

He smiled at the Erinye, “You might say that it was nepotism. But it was my mother’s sister Marjorie, who was running the ‘Intelligence’...both MI5 and MI6.....and Mycroft and Sherrinford was recruited by her. She knew what they could do...and officially they ‘occupied a minor position in the British Government’.

 Sherlock looked at his hands and then continued in a low voice, “The Christmas where I was 18, Mycroft 25 and Sherrinford almost 28, I deduced during dinner, that Sherrinford was a double-agent. He believed that the ‘Intelligence’ knew, even if I hadn’t said a word, because Sherrinford didn’t believe me to be able to find out about that on my own, and he left the table, our house and England within the next few hours. I was later told that a dead body matching his height and other bodily characteristics had been found in France. A lot of people believed Mycroft to have found out about the double-crossing and Mycroft did use the incident to nail his reputation as an ’ice-man’ with very high moral principles, even prepared to sacrifice his own brother, and why should I try to ruin that reputation?”

“I see,“ said the Erinye, “I see that your childhood hasn’t been easy either. But still, you are a good man, Sherlock Holmes. A very good man...And you deserve the help I’m allowed to give you.”

She paused a bit before she continued, “This...bringing you back in your time. It is against the laws of the Universe. Time-travel is very seldom allowed. And it is only because the Council has made a very big mistake, that it is allowed this time.”

She paused a bit before she continued looking away from Sherlock, “You must understand that what I tell you is never going to happen now. We have mended it, but as I first visited your world in your year 2020, it was falling apart. It was the ‘Third World War’. Not with atom bombs but with every country fighting against each other all over the world. Millions and millions died and we investigated what had happened. And just like the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria was the spark that started WW1 and thereby WW2, we discovered that it was the assassination of a ‘Mycroft Holmes’ one year prior that was the spark to ‘the powder keg’. We investigated further and to our horror we found out about our neglect regarding Sargadon and that that neglect had lasted millenniums.”

She turned towards Sherlock, “Imagine our guilt and horror when we found out about how the ‘Angels’ had treated the ‘Devils’ and that the war between those two populations had reached out and almost ruined Earth as well. We were allowed to travel in time to try to mend a bit of it. But if you stretch the ‘time’ too far, it might ruin the Universe. Everybody...including the Creator...must obey the rules. It is similar to ‘playing’ chess without rules. In that case you just move chess-pieces around randomly and do not play the game. Not that the existence of the Universe is just a game, but there are rules to keep the existence in balance..”

“I understand...”, said Sherlock.

“When you are going to enter your time in 2013, you’ll sense that there is no way we can stretch the time even further back. Eight years is the utmost limit and we do not dare to stretch it that far. Other things might happen other places in the Universe to outbalance, what we are doing here and we can’t risk too much turbulence. Believe me, Sherlock. If I could undo that you had to jump from the rooftop of the Bart’s, I’ll do that, but I can’t. I can give you this second chance...and at the same time prevent your brother from being assassinated in 2019 by removing all the ‘Devils’ and their descendants if necessary..., but this is what I can do. I’m sorry that you have been the centre of so much sorrow and trouble. You have deserved better, Sherlock.”

“Who are you removing?” Sherlock wanted to know.

“As mentioned, Sherrinford Holmes.....and yes, I know that others are going to take his place. But they are not geniuses and the world would be safer place without him. Culverton Smith of course. He is not a descendant but 100% Devil and sneaked through together with others when a ‘semi-portal’ opened almost 25 years ago. A few children managed to get through too: Jim Moriarty and some other children. All in all about 1000 ‘Devils’ came through and we are removing them together with the descendants with too much foreign DNA...”

She paused and looked at Sherlock, “Mary Morstan’ or more correctly ‘Mary Watson’ or even more correctly: ‘Amelie Gretha Roger-Amunsson’ is a descendant and that is why a child with her DNA and......and John Watson’s DNA must never be conceived and allowed to live on Earth.....”

Sherlock frowned, “John is a descendant too? And in danger of being removed? In that case I’m going to follow.....”

She smiled, “No...he is not in danger. His upbringing and education on Sandhurst has given him such a strong moral core, that he would never...or very seldom....allow his dark side to win. You don’t have to follow him to Sargadon. He’ll remain here. But don’t misuse your chance with him this time. You’ll only get this one second chance...”

Sherlock smiled sadly, “But he is not gay...”

“No....but with Mary out of the picture you might have a chance. She did poison John’s mind against you ever since she met him. She was one of the snipers at the pool. She was the sniper put on John when you had to jump and the only reason why he wasn’t shot when she found out that you were still alive, as her order had been from Moriarty, was that marrying John and pushing him away from you would be a better revenge.

And when she discovered that it hadn’t been enough to take him away from you, she shot you even if it would have been so much a better idea to shoot Magnussen, when she had him on his knees. Instead she shot you....and was very surprised as you survived. But you don’t have to worry about her....and Minna is never going to be made or born. Her percentage of Devil-DNA would have made her into a nightmare. Right now, while you and I are sitting here talking, all the descendants with too much foreign DNA and the pureblood Devils are being transferred and your Earth is going to be a better place. And just one word from you...and we’ll consider taking Mycroft Holmes with us too, despite his ability to keep England safe.”

“No...let him stay. He is sometimes very useful for me as well. And I’ll confront him with what he had done of bad things against me and hopefully his answers will tell me if I can trust him in the future or not.”

She nodded and said, “But please remember that this Mycroft Holmes has not yet made his final deals with Sherrinford or Culverton. We do have a suspicion that Mycroft preferred to die after everything had blown up in his face and he let his guards down. A ‘suicide by proxy’ so to say.....He lost his will to live after you died, Sherlock....”

“Because of Culverton’s poison?”

“No,.... you survived that and even managed to find a cure. But you and John drifted further apart and you left London and settled down in Berlin in 2018. You killed yourself there with an overdose....”

Sherlock looked at her, “In that case I’m happy that I’m given a second chance...”

She smiled at got up on her cat-feet and reached for his hand, “Ready, Sherlock Holmes?”

He smiled and let her drag him on his feet, “Ready!”


	5. Back in time and a much needed talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I’ve used quite a lot from the wonderful Ariane deVere’s transcripts. (http://arianedevere.livejournal.com)  
> Without them at hand, it would have been so much harder to find out what exactly happened and what was said.

Just before they left her ‘in-between’ she stopped him and said, “Wait a moment, please...”

Sherlock looked at her with a frown.

She gestured forward and said, “When we enter your world, you will see yourself from the back, just outside Mycroft’s secret office at the Diogenes’. The time will seem ‘frozen’ and you do have some time to enter yourself again, and you must sort of ‘walk into’ yourself again...and remember, you will be in pain. Your wounds will be fresh again. All your healing will not have happened. All the physiotherapy will not have happened...”

Sherlock smiled, “It would be worth a bit of pain, to get a new chance.”

She shook her head, “It would be more than ’a bit’. And you will have the knowledge from know. From those almost three years happening from the time you returned from Serbia. You will have to nearly forget the knowledge and you can only tell a few people....Mycroft would be one of them, because he must know enough to prevent the blowing up of the Parliament...and John, if it could be necessary to make him believe you. But apart from them you’ll have to forget.”

Sherlock nodded, “I understand. And I know the pain would be more than a bit.....but this time I sincerely hope that John is not going to beat the shit out of me and make it worse..”   

She nodded, “And another thing. I’ll be here for a while, if Mycroft refuses to believe...and to bring him with me if necessary. It is just a word from you, Sherlock. Just a word.”

He smiled, “I know, but I doubt it. I know somehow that Mycroft do care about me deep down inside of him, even if he has a funny way to show it. It doesn’t mean though that I’ll ever allow him to abuse me in any way anymore.”

He looked at her, “It is rather strange, isn’t it? We have talked for a very long time…but not once have you told me your name. Is it forbidden or something?”

“No…it is all right and not strictly forbidden. There is power in knowing my real name, but you are a person to be trusted. My name is Alexa.”

Sherlock nodded, “Close to my sister’s name.”

And then as Sherlock prepared to push through the barrier in front of him, Alexa told him to wait and told him a bit more of his brother’s deals with first Jim Moriarty, Sherrinford and finally Culverton.

And finally, Sherlock understood why Moriarty had shot himself, “He must have thought that I was a ‘devil-child’ just like him and not just a descendant.”

“You almost told him….that you were such a child and Mycroft not.”

And Sherlock remembered the conversation:

That he had said to Moriarty: “ _Yes, but I’m not my brother, remember? I am you – prepared to do anything; prepared to burn; prepared to do what ordinary people won’t do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you_.”…and  “ _Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don’t think for one second that I am one of them.”_

He smiled at Alexa, “He expected me to take over his job. And by making Mycroft sending me on a revenge-spree, we did what he wanted and destroyed his rival’s network. With Sherrinford gone, Moriarty could really have world-domination. But how did he survive? I saw him shoot himself. I saw the blood.”

“Being a ‘devil’ he just did send himself back to Sargadon and stayed there until he could return. Remember…he had found a way to sneak through to this world without a portal. That is how he could return in your future, winning because of Culverton’s plans and taking over Sherrinford’s diminished and crippled organisation.”

“And he can’t just return now? From Sargadon?”

“No, that possibility has been closed down by now. He must be very disappointed. And as I told you, we are collecting all the ill-fitted descendants and all the pure-blood-devils and sending them to Sargadon….and your other brother Mycroft is not out of the fire yet. We can’t read his mind. Only gauge his actions. You’ll have to confront him with the facts and gauge his reactions. Remember…it is just a word from you, Sherlock…”

He turned and looked at her the last time, “I know…”

______________

And with those words Sherlock pushed the barrier. It felt like a rubber-membrane at first and then like walking through syrup. A side-effect of the time-travel and the reason why there was a limitation of how far back the time-travel could go.

And he entered the hall outside Mycroft’s secret underground office. Time had slowed down. The younger Sherlock Holmes was standing with his face towards the door and one of the guards flanking him had reached out his hand out to open it. The guards were there not to guard but to support, Sherlock supposed. Well, no reason to delay it…and he walked briskly towards the other Sherlock and was suddenly in his own body again….and stumbled, because the pain in his back was a bit worse than he remembered and the other guard gave him a helping hand, “Careful, sir..” as the other guard opened the door.

“I’m fine“, said Sherlock, as he walked into his brother’s office. Being able to compare, Sherlock could see that the last almost 3 years had been tough on Mycroft. This version looked healthier and younger…..and more than 3 years younger.

“Oh there you are” said Mycroft and made a gesture towards a…..you could hardly imagine a more misplaced item in an office…a professional barber’s chair. “I’ve arranged for a professional barber of the Diogenes’ club to attend to you. I’ve been told that you have……some difficulties……with an electric razor.”

As Sherlock carefully prepared himself to sit in the chair, he looked at his brother and said, “Shouldn’t we use the right words for it? It might trigger some PTSD reactions for a while since one of the tugs in Serbia used one on me. For some strange reasons…”

And then Sherlock buried his face in the newspaper and didn’t say a word to the barber as he entered and began to soap Sherlock’s face. The last time Sherlock hadn’t said a word about the razor, but he was most certainly going to do it differently this time.

 

This time Sherlock answered like he had done before, but didn’t take the bait and just said, “Thank you.” at the end of the conversation beginning with Mycroft’s, “You have been busy, haven’t you?..... Quite the busy little bee.”

Sherlock replied like he had done the last time, “Moriarty’s network – took me two years to dismantle it.”

“And you’re confident you have?”

“The Serbian side was the last piece of the puzzle.”, Sherlock said, knowing full well this time that it was a lie.

“Yes. You got yourself in deep there ... with Baron Maupertuis. Quite a scheme.”

And Sherlock just answered, “Colossal.” And didn’t tell Mycroft that Mycroft knew all too well that it had been Maupertuis even without looking at the file on the desk. And it had been Sherrinford too.

Shutting the file, Mycroft remarked, “Anyway, you’re safe now.”

Sherlock didn’t answer, just wondered how his brother could lie like that..

Mycroft continued, “A small ‘thank you’ wouldn’t go amiss.”

And it was now that Sherlock just said, “Thank you, brother mine..”

The true conversation. The one that the barber wasn’t supposed to hear, it could wait a few minutes.

__________________

As soon as the barber had left, Sherlock left the chair too, and raised his hand as Mycroft was going to call for Anthea to bring Sherlock’s coat.

“Wait!”, he said, “You and I have some unfinished business to talk about.”

“What could that be, pray tell, little brother?”

And know Sherlock went over to the desk, sat down on the rim and looming over Mycroft he hissed, “I was lying before. I don’t want to thank you! You sat there and watched me being beaten to a pulp!”

“I got you out!”, Mycroft frowned.

“Why didn’t you intervene sooner? You knew that I was caught the moment the men in the helicopter caught me. 3 weeks! I was in that dungeon for 3 weeks before you waded in and was sitting there for a whole day watching them beating me!”

“Well, I couldn’t risk giving myself away, could I? It would have ruined everything.”, replied Mycroft.

Sherlock smiled, “Yeah…it would have ruined it for you! You were enjoying it.”

“Nonsense.”

“Definitely enjoying it!”

Mycroft was now leaning forward and said, “Listen: do you have any idea what it was like, Sherlock, going ‘under cover,’ smuggling my way into their ranks like that? The noise; the people. Speaking Serbian. In case you’d forgotten, fieldwork is not my natural milieu.”

“Nonsense. You used to thrive in it and I didn’t know you spoke Serbian, even if it was with a slight Hungarian accent.”

“I didn’t” , was Mycroft’s answer, “But the language has a Slavic root, frequent Turkish and German loan words. Took me a couple of hours.”

Now Sherlock rose to his feet, ignoring the pain in his shoulders and back, he did lean forward and slammed his flat hands down on the table and shouted, “Stop lying to me! Even you are not able to learn Serbian on one afternoon. Even your tailor, who is a marvel, can’t make an exact replica of a Serbian officer’s uniform in an afternoon. Three weeks. You knew for three weeks!”

“Do you honestly think that I would not try to get you out as soon as I was told? That I would allow some Serbian tugs to torture you one second longer than it would take me to rescue you?” answered Mycroft back and to an outward spectator he didn’t seem affected. Sherlock could read it though.

Sherlock huffed, “Torture!? Shouldn’t we call it the right names? But not here…not unless this office is ‘safe’. And I would like to sit down more comfortably before I start pulling the rug from under your feet.”

Mycroft rose, “Are you really trying to threaten me?”

“No” smiled Sherlock, “Merely telling you some facts.”

____________________

In one of the more secret rooms in the Diogenes’ and a room where highly ranked persons could be sure than no one could be listening (apart from Mycroft, of course) Sherlock and Mycroft were now sitting alone. Mycroft with a cognac and Sherlock with an (untouched) cup of tea.

Sherlock had told Mycroft, as they had seated themselves in the comfortable chairs, that he should shut up and listen. That Sherlock knew about Mycroft’s deals with Moriarty and Sherrinford and that he would tell in detail later what that implied.

That statement had rendered Mycroft speechless apart from the sentence, “You have changed…almost overnight.”

But Sherlock had not answered immediately. Just looked at his teacup and gathered his thoughts.

Finally, he looked at his brother and said, “Until I give you permission, you’ll sit there and listen. I have enough material to send you to prison, to ruin your political career and finally to send you a place you most certainly do not want to be sent to. It is not because I hate you….and I’ll give you this, that hadn’t you come to get me out of Serbia and had they continued to treat me like that, I would have died, but when we leave this room the dynamics between you and I would have changed. I’m not your toy…not your pawn on a chessboard.”

He lifted his hand as Mycroft was about to say something and it showed how shaken Mycroft was, that he obeyed.

Sherlock continued, “First: you mentioned that I had changed. I have, but not overnight. And please remember, before you write my sayings off as a sort of delayed delirium or being under influence of drugs, that I’m the scientist here and all this is against everything that I’ve learned. This is my body, Mycroft, and if I should doubt it I’ll just have to move to feel the wounds on my back. But my mind is from the Sherlock out in the future. I’m a time-traveller, Mycroft. And if you want proof, then know that I have had no opportunity to get this knowledge: but John Watson doesn’t live in Baker Street anymore, he is currently dating a Mary Morstan, a nurse from his clinic. In your physical mailbox are two envelopes that you haven’t opened yet. One from a man in the United States and one from Sherrinford. Maybe you should send for them.”

And Mycroft did so. He looked at the envelopes in his hands. He didn’t open them, just looked and said in a very low voice, “Time-travel? I see that I have the proof here. And that you in no way could have known the rest. But time-travel?!”

Sherlock looked at him, “It is not all of it. I’ll tell you in due time, but not now. I don’t know when Sherrinford contacted you and did let you know that he was alive and wanted to make a deal with you, but it was before everything happening with Moriarty. And you made a deal with him too. I don’t know the details, but I have a close idea what it was about. And you can say something now.”

Mycroft looked at him and closed his eyes, “I…I tried to keep England safe…..and you..”, he almost whispered.

“You made a ‘deal with the devil’ in more than one sense, Mycroft. In more sense than you could ever know. But I think I have a right to know what those deals were about, don’t you?”

Mycroft emptied his glass and filled it again, gesturing towards Sherlock’s empty glass.

Sherlock shook his head, “Painkillers!”

And Mycroft winced.

And then he began to speak, “Sherrinford disappeared and a very convincing body turned up in France. I had my doubts though, even if Mummy and father did identify him.  Seven years later I had reached my high position in the government…secretly…and aunt Marjorie had retired, so I inherited her position too. Not because I was her nephew, but because I was the most skilled. And then ‘The Black Widower’ contacted me and we made a deal. He would keep away from Western Europe and America and I would diminish our actions in Eastern Europe and Asia. From time to time he would even give information that could prevent acts of terror in ‘my’ part of the world. I thought him to be a man who once had lived in England, and somehow wanted to protect a country he had grown fond of. But I had no idea that he was our brother. First as you was caught in Serbia, he revealed that he was Sherrinford. He gave me a dare. That I could have you back in almost one piece, if I could sneak you out under his men’s eyes…..and I succeeded. Sherrinford never intended to kill you, Sherlock!”

“No…just break me! And Moriarty?”

Mycroft sighed, “At that time with the painting and the bombings and the gold-robberies, I thought Moriarty was the ‘Big Shark’. That it was his criminal network that worked in Europe and England. I thought him to be a rival to ‘The Black Widower’. It turned out that he was just a vassal-king and that Sherrinford hadn’t kept his promise to stay out of England and Western Europe. But on the other hand…I hadn’t left his organisation alone after all. But ‘Moriarty’……I had made a deal with him. You would be allowed to live, but should leave England. At least for a while. John should believe you to be dead, it was very important and Moriarty would of course not go to jail. I was willing to pay that price to keep you alive, Sherlock! Jim Moriarty had proved in the pool-room that he could kill you any moment, if he wanted to. I had to make that deal!”

Mycroft drank a large gulp of his cognac before he put the nearly empty glass down on the table.

“When Moriarty got insane and shot himself on the rooftop I couldn’t cancel the scheme. You still had to jump and leave, and John still had to believe that you were dead. Or you would both have been killed. When John got so depressed that he almost killed himself, I had to do something. I looked through our files and found a free-lance former CIA-agent, who fitted the profile of someone John might like to date. It turned out she was in England on some sort of other job, but she was willing to help me looking after John…and keep him alive. I didn’t expect him to fall in love with her so fast. And I couldn’t tell him you were alive, not yet. It wasn’t safe to do so until Sherrinford had contacted me and told that Moriarty had ‘borrowed’ Sherrinford’s organisation……and that I, by sending you out to destroy ‘Moriarty’ almost had destroyed Sherrinford’s organisation in Eastern Europe and America. We had quite a row about that, and Sherrinford finally admitted that he was Sherrinford and that he from now on would keep his part of the promise, because ‘we were bothers after all’. I don’t think for one second that he is going to keep that promise, but I got you out of his claws after all. And almost in one piece.”

Sherlock looked at Mycroft for a while and then he asked, “And then you saw a chance to indulge in one of your darker urges, when you arrived in Serbia?”

Mycroft lowered his gaze before he said, “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about a certain Serbian Officer, in the right uniform, of the right colour and with all the right insignia, but in a uniform made of the wrong cloth and just sewn a bit to nicely to be real. I suppose that the right stuff would have been too rough on your fine English skin…and I’m talking about said officer just sitting there with his legs up, drinking wine and secretly enjoying his brother being beaten, so much that he came untouched. Quite impressive of a man of your age!”

“I…I don’t know…”

“And don’t you dare to lie to me!”, Sherlock had risen to his feet, and moved over and was looming over Mycroft’s chair, “Don’t. You. Dare. Lying. To. Me! You have never quite understood how I function. How it works when I say that my perception of sound, scent, taste and touch surpass every normal human’s abilities. Even sleep-deprived, groggy because of the pain I could smell it on you as you came nearer, Mycroft. Semen! You had come untouched because of my suffering! How perverted. I might have masochistic tendencies, but believe me. There was nothing pleasurable in it for me!”

Mycroft dared to lift his gaze and meet Sherlock’s eyes, “Do you honestly think that I enjoyed seeing you being tortured?”

Sherlock had sat down again, “Tortured…shouldn’t we give things their rightful names?”

He pointed at the envelopes, “What is in there…and don’t open yet…could be called torture. But again. Here I am…almost in one piece. What happened in Serbia wasn’t torture. And you know that. Torture would have been injecting me with various chemicals, waterboarding, Falanga or breaking bones…oh the last thing happened. I suppose the tug, who broke my ribs, was suitably punished. After all, hitting me there again might have caused a broking rib to enter my lungs and might have killed me. No…what happened in Serbia was…however painful and humiliating… not real torture. Not made to make me talk, because everybody knew, who I was at that time. Let me recall what happened and give the things their right names…”

And Sherlock began to count on his fingers in a mockery of counting on your fingers in a school-class,

“1) _Tethered to a wall with iron manacles, not being able to support my weight and get free to take care of bodily needs and having to soil myself. But always lowered down so I could breathe after a while._

That would be ‘stress-positions’ and ‘humiliation’

2) _Light burns with cigarettes_

Well that would be what it said. But not on my eyeballs, not on my genitals, not on my hands or feet. Not too deep and only places where they would scar but not destroy function.

3) _Sleep-deprivation_

Done to make me dizzy and pliant. They knew how dangerous I could be otherwise.

4) _Being beaten with a bludgeon, or in this case…a piece of water-pipe._

Unintentionally breaking 3 ribs. But not fingers, not joints.

5) _Forced to eat out of bowls on the floor. And sometimes food that had been peed on._

That would be ‘humiliation’ again

6) _Being cut with a knife. But seldom deeper than skin. Only at a few occasions a bit deeper into muscle-tissue, but never deeper damage. It could almost be called…_

“Knife-play”

And finally 7) _being whipped_

For God’s sake. This is 2013 and not some medieval monastery.

So if I should sum it up, it doesn’t sound like something from a modern torture-chamber. It sounds more like the menu of a bit advanced BDSM-club here in London, don’t you think so, Mycroft?!”

At least Sherlock had the pleasure of seeing Mycroft being totally dumbstruck and staying totally silent.

And then Mycroft did something unexpected. He rose and went over to Sherlock and knelt before him. Buried his face in his hands and whispered, “Forgive me, please. Forgive me!”


	6. Brothers

Sherlock felt unease by having his usually so strong and almost untouchable big brother on his knees in front of him, and he touched Mycroft’s shoulder and said, “Go back to your chair, please. We are what we are and you will just have to fight it…”

Mycroft went to his chair and being English he just cleared his throat and sat down and poured another cognac before he said without his usual eloquence, “I don’t know what went into me. And yes…you have deduced right that being a sadist is my dark secret…and yes, I do frequent certain clubs here in London to…to indulge in my darker urges. In those clubs…those young men serving…the owners always make sure that it is safe, sane and consensual and doctors are always present to make sure that borders are never overstepped. I have never myself though…..I have always just watched. Not that it is an excuse, but…” Mycroft’s voice faded.

He took a deep breath, “I don’t know what went into me…..”

Sherlock was just… ‘scrutinizing’ him would be the right word, but what he saw was just raw honesty. Mycroft was shaken by what he had allowed to happen to Sherlock.

Well, time for the next ‘blow.’

But before Sherlock could say something, Mycroft had continued, “Sherrinford must somehow have known about my….inclination, but he wrote something in his message to me, that didn’t quite make any sense. Then. Maybe now I do understand what he meant.”

Mycroft took another sip of his glass and looked at it before he continued, “Maybe it is time for honesty. Not because of the threats you aimed at me, but because you deserve it.”

He lifted his eyes so he could look Sherlock directly into his eyes, “When I went to boarding school and was that last year at the same school together with Sherrinford, he must have thought that he and I still ‘were on the same page in the book’. But we weren’t. I could see his coldness and sometimes his cruelty, and I felt that I was a bit different. But if you felt back then in the holidays that I had changed a lot, you are right. Sherrinford had a bad influence on me, especially regarding you. He never developed warmer feelings for you…and not towards little Alexandra either. He felt…maybe rightfully…that he had been sent away, abandoned, when Alexandra was born.”

Sherlock shook his head, “To stay on that school was his own choice. He had been asked. I’ve seen the letter that father and Mummy wrote to him and his answer. It was his own choice not to come home and be home-tutored.”

Mycroft nodded, “Probably he enjoyed to be on the top level of the predator-pyramid at Harrow too much. Everybody…even the elder students, feared his sharp tongue and what he knew about them. And if Sherrinford thought me to be more like him, I understand his message better now.”

Mycroft looked Sherlock directly in the face now, “He wrote that I could have you back in one piece, physically and that his treatment of you would, and now come the part that I didn’t understand the more ominous meaning of until now, _’make you more suitable for my needs’_. I thought he meant that you would be more prone to give up being a detective and share my political career. I know fear that he meant something entirely different.”

“Look in the envelopes now, Mycroft. And you’ll see exactly what he meant!”

Mycroft opened the envelope from Florida first. He looked at the pictures, visibly shaken.

“That man, who did that….is he still alive?”, he finally asked.

Sherlock reached out and took the pictures and looked at them. They showed a naked and bound man with long curly hair. Bound in different positions to different contraptions, but always so his abuser could use the man’s arse to his own pleasure. The man’s hair had a different colour and he had a beard, but it was still easy to see that it was Sherlock being repeatedly raped by another man, who didn’t even bother to disguise his face.

Sherlock didn’t answer immediately. Just looked at the pictures and then he began to speak, “It was his ‘signature crime’. To abduct people and then bind them and rape them. If he could force an orgasm out of them, he saw it as a bigger victory and would call them ‘sluts’ and ‘cunts’ afterwards. I had been abstinent for a while and my body reacted. So yes…the last pictures in each row are true enough. I did ejaculate. And I wasn’t harmed more physically, than it would heal without problems. He did use lubricant and found more pleasure in my body failing me, than in actually causing pain. Luckily for me it wasn’t one the few occasions where he killed people as well.”

Sherlock looked up, “There would be drugs and sleep deprivation, they never have much fantasy, such people, and normally his victims would be broken when he finally would release them. And no he is not alive…..and I did let me catch on purpose to get to him. I had not expected the ‘full treatment’ though.”

Now Sherlock smiled, a just as ominous smile as one Mycroft could have made, “He had expected me to be totally defenceless. My alias then was a university professor, a bit absentminded and nice. The American man was on the wrong track and he discovered that, as he loosened me from the last contraption and I strangled him with one of the straps. I know it was a too mild death for a pervert like him, but I was busy.”

He looked at the pictures again, “Sherrinford must have known about this and must have expected me to be more broken because of what happened…and now it is time for you to open the next envelope.”

Mycroft opened it and again there were pictures of Sherlock being raped. This time in the cellars in Serbia under Baron Maupertuis’ castle and by a man, who at first glance looked a bit like Sherlock, but he was a bit taller and more muscular. And his hair was short and pitch black.

Mycroft whispered, “Our own brother raped you…repeatedly?”

“Actually, Mycroft, there is only a minor difference between what he did and what you have wanted…isn’t there? Don’t you think I know that it was on purpose that your men gave me such short notice back then, as I was forced to Buckingham Palace in just a sheet? I had time to dress in the helicopter, yes, but I just wondered how far you intended to run that farce and decided to visit the Queen dressed like an ancient Roman citizen. And you showed your true colours as you stepped on my sheet…and you must have regretted it deeply as I managed to catch it in time. When did you discover that you had such inappropriate thoughts about your younger brother’s body?”

Again Mycroft did hide his head in his hands, “Oh God. I’m so ashamed. But since you stopped being all legs and arms and big feet and a big nose. Since you stopped being a lanky git and developed a body that looked like the statue of a Greek god.”

Sherlock’s eyes were glacier-cold as he spoke, “I see. Sherrinford must have known and since he had no brotherly feelings for me and hated me for dismantling his network, he decided to give the only person, he has ever loved just a bit, a gift. Me…as a broken ‘sex-toy’ for you to ‘play’ with.”

Mycroft looked up with a start, “I would never….I mean, one thing is fantasy, another is reality. I would never have…Oh God….”

And he had tears in his eyes.

Then he said in a very low voice, “Do you remember…after you had identified Irene Adler’s dead body and yes, I know that she isn’t dead and that she is back in the United States. Do you remember that you asked _“Do you ever wonder if there’s something wrong with us?”_ I never really answered then. But there is something wrong….Maybe not with you and Alexandra, but most definitely with Sherrinford and I….”

Sherlock shook his head, “I’m not so different from you…or Sherrinford or Moriarty for that matter. I could have turned out being just as cold and heartless. It is often a question of ‘nurture’ more than ‘nature’. I’ve killed men, Mycroft and with pleasure. Not the killing itself, but because it was necessary and would prevent others from being killed. Even out in my future, that is not going to happen now, I killed a man in cold blood. You and I, Mycroft, compared to Moriarty and Sherrinford…it is a question of…degrees.”

Mycroft shook his head, “I disagree. You have always fought to keep your feelings down, to control them. But you have the biggest heart I have ever seen in a human being. And that made you so vulnerable that I decided to learn you to hide them…”

They sat in silence and Sherlock drank the cold tea with a grimace and Mycroft drank the last droplets in his glass.

“I know exactly what is wrong with us” said Sherlock….and began to tell about the future where Culverton had poisoned him and several thousands of citizens in London. How he had escaped the hospital and how he had met that being from another parallel universe. He told what Alexa was and what she had told about the ‘devils’ and the ‘angels’ and their descendants, the portals in Earth and the visits. But he didn’t tell everything, and nothing about the ‘removal’ and not what ‘Mary’ had been, not about the third World War and Mycroft’s suicide. There was no reason to dwell with the future-not-to-be after all.

And just like Sherlock had understood as Alexa told, Mycroft did understand the idea about parallel universes. Mycroft was so shaken by know, that he was ready to believe everything Sherlock would tell and Mycroft understood that he was such a descendant too.

“That explains a lot. My eating-disorder during puberty as well. But that Erinye…why is she here on Earth now?”

That was the keyword and Sherlock called Alexa in his mind and she turned up in the middle of the room.

It showed how collected Mycroft could be, that he just looked very closely at her, closed his eyes for a few seconds and the looked at her again, “This…this is going to change our world so much!”

She smiled at him, not the warm smile she had used on Sherlock, but a colder one, “No, because you are never going to tell, is that understood?”

Mycroft swallowed and said, “Yes, ma’am.” Because Mycroft could most of the time sense when people were dangerous, just like Sherlock could, even if Sherlock had failed at three remarkable occasions: Jim from  IT, Mary and actually Molly too.

And then Alexa told Mycroft some of the parts that Sherlock had left out and about who and what ‘Mary’ had been…

“Oh God. And I put her voluntarily on John to save him. He was so depressed. She had worked for CIA and had worked freelance for MI6, and her personality-profile did fit to be someone that John might date. I have made things so much worse. Believe me, Sherlock, I had no idea that she was working for Moriarty.”

“It became worse, Mycroft”, said Sherlock and told about how John had beaten the shit out of Sherlock, because Mary so subtly had poisoned John’s mind and made him doubt Sherlock even more. Sherlock told how Mary had encouraged John’s and Sherlock’s friendship after all, so she could keep a closer eye on Sherlock. Sherlock told how he had been honoured that John had considered Sherlock to be his best friend and asked him to plan the wedding and be the best man. He told how he had been hired by Lady Smallwood to retrieve the letters from her husband to a young woman. How Carl August Magnussen had been the cause of Lord Smallwood’s suicide.

“Oh by the way, Mycroft, you’ll have to do something about Lord Moran. He is the man who is going to blow the parliament to pieces on Guy Fawkes day……and I know that you have lost two agents on that case. The bomb would be hidden in an empty underground coach and on an abandoned forgotten underground station situated under the Parliament.”

Mycroft just listened with his mouth open and then he closed it with a click, “If I didn’t know that you were a time-traveller, you have just piled yet another evidence on top of the rest of the evidence.”

“You have still lots of time. Just keep an eye on him. It would be better if you could catch him red-handed. I suppose Sherrinford is…or was…behind it. And he is no longer a problem, believe me.”

“Why is he no longer a problem?”

And then Alexa told about the removal of the descendants and the pure-blood devils and Mycroft listened in silence.

Then he cleared his throat, “I see. Will I be allowed some time to finish some unfinished business?”

Alexa looked at him in silence for a few seconds before she asked, “What makes you believe that I’m going to bring you with me?”

Mycroft huffed, “I think I fit the description of coldness, lack of empathy, even ‘psychopathy’. Just ask Sherlock…..I’ve let him down so much. Abused him….and there are no excuses for my behaviour towards him. But I’m not a coward.  I’ve never been afraid of facing the consequences of my doings, even if I, being English, would prefer not to ‘mention the elephant in the room’. Sherlock did just say it. There is only a slight difference between what I did to him…and what Sherrinford did. I’ve tried to keep England safe and to some extend my youngest brother, but I realize now that I have made things worse by my doings and that I’ve tried to make ‘deals with the Devil’. This is an explanation and not an excuse…because there would be no way that my doings can be forgiven. I understand that and accept it… I just ask if I could be given some time to finish some unfinished business…”

She looked a bit more at him and then she said something that he didn’t understand right away, “You two brothers are more alike than the first glance gives away. Sherlock was ready to die to save you and his friends…at more than one occasion. And you are ready to pay the price for your doings….that by the way haven’t been as dark and cruel as you seem to think they are. Yes…you have made mistakes. But it is very difficult to stay unharmed when you make ‘deals with the Devil’ in this case your brother Sherrinford and his vassal-king Moriarty. I want you to speak the truth now, Mycroft Holmes..”

“Of course…”

“Why have you done this? Those deals?”

Mycroft looked at her with confusion, “I thought my motives were clear? To keep Great Britain safe. To protect the citizens as far as I could possible do. To protect the tailors in Savile Row, the fish’n’chips salesmen in Soho, the Queen…..everybody as safe as I possible could manage. I see that I’ve failed miserably and a lot of people died because of my miscalculations. But it was my best intention to protect Great Britain and Western Europe….The Western Hemisphere….”

She looked at him and then she asked, “And would you give up everything to undo those miscalculations that harmed Sherlock?”

Mycroft frowned at her, “What do you mean…’everything’? My career? My wealth? My position in society? My life? Oh god…I would give up everything to avoid Sherlock being a victim of my miscalculations. Everything!”

She smiled…a genuine this time, “I believe you. And that is exactly why I’m not taking you with me.”

She pointed at Sherlock, who had kept silent the whole time. “Of course only if your primary victim can forgive you.”

Mycroft looked at Sherlock, who just smiled back…a genuine smile, “Of course I forgive you. Everybody is allowed to make mistakes…once. Twice is a coincidence and third time is a habit…”

“Then I’ll bid you goodbye.”, said the Erinye…and disappeared.

_________________

Mycroft shook his head, “I would give up everything if you demand that of me, Sherlock. I do love you Sherlock…even if my love isn’t totally just brotherly….and I’ll have to work with that on my own. But I’ve hurt you so much…used you as a pawn on a chessboard. I swear that that is going to change. I owe you that. I almost had you killed…well I actually do not know the number. The reports weren’t always clear on that point.”

“I lost track too.“ , smiled Sherlock, “And please do not change too much. It would make me ill at ease. I sort of enjoy our banter…but one thing I’ll demand of you.”

“Anything!”

“Stay away from John…and accept that I want him as my partner..and maybe even more if he is amenable.”

“He is not gay, Sherlock.”

Sherlock smiled back, “No, but coming from the future I know more about him….”

Sherlock paused, “Did you by any chance know that he was your best MI6 sniper? That he was ‘The Scotsman’?”

Mycroft paused for a moment, the he sighed, “There is always something. The year missing on John’s CV….and someone fiddled with the bodily descriptions I suppose. Changed the colour of the hair and the height. I should have guessed when he shot the cabbie…through two windows and with a normal handgun. I thought it to be luck…”

“And it was with his ‘weak’ hand. The right. He was an even more amazing shooter with his left hand, before it was ruined.”, explained Sherlock.

Mycroft smiled…a genuine smile, “John being the ‘Scotsman’…he couldn’t be a better partner for you.”

Sherlock shook his head, “Don’t even contemplate being a matchmaker, a cupid. Look what you found to John. Keep your eye on the world politics and spying on me and the rest of the citizens of London. Keep on making England, Great Britain and the Western Hemisphere safe…There is going to be a lot of work with all those thousands of people suddenly gone missing. But stay out of my life, Mycroft!”

Mycroft smiled back, “I’ll make an effort to intervene as little as possible, still regarding your safety of course!”

“Of course!”


	7. A new beginning?

A butler brought in a trolley with tea and sandwiches because Mycroft had ordered a light meal after the Erinye had left.

The two brothers looked at each other and smiled.

“So…what are you going to do now?”, asked Mycroft and took a bite of one of the sandwiches.

Sherlock finished his bite of his sandwich before he said, “Find a table at the ‘Landmark’ and try to tell John the gentlest way, that I’m not dead. And I need your help.”

“Anything.”

“Well, get me a table there. Drive me there. Get a cab to wait outside and write the note I dictate to you.”

“Consider it done.” And Mycroft took his phone and made a few calls while Sherlock ate another sandwich. They were delicious and he knew he needed the protein to heal. And having lived as he had the previous more than two years, he had learned not to be so picky as he had been before.

When Mycroft had finished speaking in his phone, he looked at Sherlock and asked, “Anything else?”

Sherlock smiled, “I want my life, my money, my flat and my reputation back.”

Mycroft smiled again, “I’ve already arranged for that. Your will would be reversed and since I inherited most of your money, it will be no problem to undo it. Regarding your reputation. There will be a press conference tomorrow….if you are not in too much pain?”

Mycroft winced a bit, remembering that he was partly to blame for Sherlock’s pain. If he just had intervened a bit before. Not as soon as he got the message from Sherrinford, because he hadn’t been able to react so fast, but most certainly he could have done something before three weeks had passed. Mycroft had not had the fantasy to imagine how much Sherrinford’s men…or rather the Baron’s men, would have humiliated and harmed Sherlock. If he had known, he wouldn’t have taken his time to have the uniform made and been so ‘slow’ to learn Serbian.

“I’ll manage..”, said Sherlock…and it meant so much more than those three words actually said. It meant that he wasn’t harmed irreparably and that Mycroft shouldn’t worry so much and remember that Sherlock had forgiven him.

“Regarding your finances right now, you can take my card and use it and your flat is no problem.", said Mycroft, "I bought the house in Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson can live there as long as she wants. I’ve even arranged for the basement flat to be restored, so you can have more room. But you are aware that John doesn’t live there anymore? I managed….I have to admit a bit too late….to find out why his army-pension wasn’t as big as it should have been. Being both an army-doctor and a captain made him ‘fall between two stools’. He got a rather handsome compensation, so he bought a flat in the suburbs.”

“I know he doesn’t live in Baker Street and I know, he dated Mary. I even know that he was going to propose to her this evening. Remember, brother dear, that I am a time-traveller, at least in mind if not in body. I knew what happened last time…and what I would like to prevent from happening now. At least ‘Mary’ is out of the picture. Now I just have some work to do by removing the ‘poison’ she did put in John’s mind regarding me.”

“I see. Stay assured that I’ll give you any aid, you might need, “ said Mycroft and continued with a smirk, “I suppose this was the main reason to forgive me, so you could demand my help?”

 “The only reason, “ said Sherlock with much gravity…and then he continued with a smirk, “But being who we are, there might have been some other reasons too. It would be rather lonely to be the only younger Holmes alive and since it would be very unwise for us two brothers to have children ever, because of the devil-genes, we would be the last ones on our side of the family…because I sincerely hope that you are not going to be a father in the nearest future?”

“And how did you imagine that to happen?”, asked Mycroft with a look of contempt on his face.

“The usual way, I suppose.”, said Sherlock, “by your wife being pregnant!”

At least Mycroft had the decency not to pretend that Sherlock wasn’t right and just asked after a few seconds, “How long have you known? And why didn’t you say anything?”

“Oh…I don’t know. Many years. And Mummy is going to kill you because she wasn’t allowed to plan that wedding. But I presumed that you wanted to keep it as a secret for reasons, and it was nice to know something about you, that you didn’t knew that I knew.”

And Mycroft knew perfectly what Sherlock meant by that.

______________________

After they had finished their meal, ‘Anthea’ or more correctly ‘Andrea Holmes’, because it was Mycroft Holmes’ PA who was his wife as well, brought Sherlock’s coat.

Mycroft gestured towards the coat, "I had arranged for more coats to be made and this one to get a new lining. It was in a poor condition, Sherlock, but I suppose that considering that you have never wanted to buy a new one, that you felt rather attached to it, and would like to continue to dress in at least a similar one.”

Sherlock touched the fabric of the coat while Andrea was still holding it.

“It is my disguise, my signature and my armour, just like you hide behind you three-piece-suits Mycroft. You use it to look as if you do not have a heart. I use my coat to hide that I have one.”

And with that Sherlock allowed Andrea to dress him in his coat and left with a nod….

______________________

Andrea turned towards Mycroft with a questioning expression on her face.

“He knows..”, said Mycroft and reached for Andrea.

She looked around before she allowed herself to be dragged down on Mycroft’s lap, “I know too. Everything. About the Erinye too, My. I was watching and listening and I know how you failed Sherlock. He is right. He has a very big heart, since he could forgive you. But you can never do that again: use him as a pawn on your chessboard.”

Mycroft nodded and allowed his face to show emotion, “I didn’t regard him as a 'pawn'. Never. He was one of my best agents, and I’m afraid that I’ve damaged him beyond repair. Not his body, but his mind. He is a time-traveller…and he didn’t tell me everything that happened to him from now and until he met that Erinye out in the future. I’m afraid that future-Mycroft continued to abuse him…and broke him…

Mycroft closed his eyes for a moment, “I do love him, Andrea and I’ve hurt him so much…”

She kissed him on his cheek and said, “But you were prepared to risk your own life to bring him to safety. He knows that and maybe finally you two can stop your ‘animosity’ towards each other and finally admit that you do admire one another.”

Mycroft shook his head, “He doesn’t admire me for anything, Andrea, and he has no reason to do that either…”

She smiled, “You would be surprised!”

__________________

 

Outside ‘The Landmark’ Sherlock took a deep breath. This was his second chance. It would have to be all right this time. No room for error and he would have to be totally honest this time, but maybe not tell all of it right away. The part with the time-travel and parallel universes as well as future-Johns hatred and animosity. That could wait….would have to wait.

Sherlock opened the doors and gave his coat to the cloak-room attendant, patted his pocket to make sure that he had the three envelopes for John and walked in through the door. And just like last time he lost his breath as he saw John again.

“Well, into battle,”, Sherlock thought and caught one of the waiter’s attention.

“The name is William Scott. There should be a table waiting for me?”

“Right this way sir. I’m afraid that it is a bit close to the kitchen. We got a very short notice. Don’t bother sir.” He continued as he saw Sherlock stick his hand into his pocket for tips. “It had been taken care of. Generously!”

Sherlock nodded and produced the three envelopes in three different colours, “Would you take care that this gentleman over there..” and Sherlock pointed towards John, “…gets those three envelopes in in this specific order? And please do NOT mention that they are from me.”

“Right away sir. Right away. I have been told about that...arrangement.”

And Sherlock sat down at the table and turned the lamp off and blew the candles out. Now he was almost invisible in his dark corner and could observe.

__________________

 He could see John sitting at his table, from time to time looking at his watch. Not yet worried about Mary being late, but he would be …..soon.

Sherlock could see how those more than two years had taken their toll on John. He looked more than two years older. He looked broken, tired...and he was supposed to be happy because he was going to propose, wasn't he?

Sherlock hadn't really noticed the last time, but he did now.....and this time he realised even better, how much John had suffered because of Sherlock's death. How John had felt betrayed and left out.....and at the same time been ridden by guilt because he had failed to help Sherlock.

That sad excuse for a moustache that currently was situated under John's nose, made him look so much older, but Sherlock had decided not to mention the moustache this time.

_____________________________

  
(From John's point of view)

John wondered what might have delayed Mary. She should have been there almost 20 minutes ago, and it wasn't her to be late. He had specific told her to come to 'The Landmark' for a special occasion. It had been such luck to get a table there. Sometimes people had to make reservations almost a year ahead...and it had only been because of one of his colleagues had no opportunity to use his reservation himself, that he had offered John the possibility. And John had almost out of the blue decided to use the reservation to propose to Mary.

He looked up as a man entered the room and was shown his table close to the kitchen. He reminded so much of Sher.......stop! No not that again.....Please brain, stop letting me see Sherlock everywhere. He.Is.Dead!

John took a deep breath and looked up as the waiter brought him three envelopes.

“Sir. I was told to bring you these. You are supposed to read them in this order, sir.”

John just nodded.

Were they messages from Mary?

John hurried to open the first one and had to take another deep breath and a large gulp of his wine as he recognized Mycroft's handwriting:

“ _To Dr. John Watson.......”_

Oh dear...Mycroft only used his formal title when he had something unpleasant to say...The writing continued:

“ _I'm so sorry to inform you that the woman, who you currently knew as 'Mary Morstan' had been taken into custody this afternoon. Her real name is Abigail Gertrud Robben-Andersson, and she is a former CIA-agent gone rogue. She has worked for Moriarty and was one of the snipers at the pool...”_

John had to stop reading. He remembered in every vivid and terrifying detail how he had been strapped in a semtex-vest and red spots had been all over him and Sherlock. And only, as Jim had got distracted by a phone-call, he had changed his thoughts about killing them right away.

John took another gulp of his wine and continued reading:

“ _I'm truly sorry that I have not reacted before, but stay assured that I reacted as fast as I could and as soon that this information came into my possession earlier this day. I'm truly sorry and hope that the information in the next envelope can bring a little light into your life._

 

_Yours truly Mycroft Holmes”_

 

John keep on looking at the words. It seemed so surreal that his sweet, funny and charming 'Mary' could have worked voluntarily for that utter madman Moriarty. But Mycroft didn't do such things 'for fun', he must have had very heavy evidence towards 'Mary' to decide to bring her into custody.

John took a deep breath and opened the second envelope.

 

 

 


	8. Confessions

John couldn't believe his eyes as he saw Sherlock's all too well-known writing. The note said:

_"Dear John. Short version: I'm not dead...and before you crumple the paper in anger, please read the rest of the note. Believe me...I'm so sorry that I've caused you so much pain and sorrow and I'll apologize a thousand times for that. But I had no choice.”_

John looked at the piece of paper in shock......How?........Why?

And thought to himself in anger. “Had no choice”? …...As if... My ass!"

But he decided to continue reading after all:

“ _It is not easy to admit that Moriarty managed to outmanoeuvre the Holmes brothers...and he almost managed to do that. On the roof -top Jim told me that I had to jump. If I did not, you, Mrs. Hudson and Greg would be killed by snipers....…And I do not know how to write that gently so here it is: One of those snipers was 'Mary Morstan'.”_

“Oh fuck...oh fuck”, thought John and continued to read:

“ _As Jim shot himself, all Mycroft's and mine 'scenarios' got narrowed down to two possibilities. Neither of them pleasant and both with the outcome that almost everybody had to believe that I had died. Killed myself. Unfortunately you too, John. I deeply regret that I allowed Moriarty to 'make me dance to his tune' for so long, but when I realised what he was up to, it was far too late to get unnoticed by him again. There was no way that I saw any possibility to bring you with me, as I tried to bring down Moriarty's network all over the globe. And now please read the next note.”_

John took a large gulp of his wine and sat a few seconds and allowed himself to think about what he had read. That Sherlock was alive...well that was something unexpected. That Sherlock had decided that John couldn't be trusted to help against Moriarty, that did hurt. That Sherlock had judged John to be unsuitable to help tear Moriarty's network down, well that did hurt too. And that that petty excuse of a woman, that 'Mary Morstan' had been as false as a snowman in July, well that had been just another blow. Apparently everybody regarded John as a dunderhead, a simpleton, as an incompetent sop, not worthy to bring anywhere.....How did they dare! He was a god-damned army doctor. He could break every bone in a body whilst naming them if necessary! For God's sake...he had shot a cabbie through two windows...and then that...charlatan, that......machine.....that Sherlock......

John did hide his face in his hands. Oh god. Sherlock was alive and even if he hadn't believed John competent enough to come with him, John would be happy to play the fool for Sherlock if necessary.

John took another gulp of the wine, opened the last envelope and began to read the last note:

_Please John. I know you...and I know you are angry, because you think that I would believe, you were not competent enough to have travelled with me. It is not so. In fact I think that you are far more competent than me in so many ways. But having you by my side in those more than two years, would have killed us both. One thing is that I could create a new personality, a convincing one and one that was 'watertight' until my cover was blown about four months ago, but with you by my side, as my companion-in-arms, would have blown our cover immediately. A somewhat tall man and his shorter companion. It would have shouted “John Watson & Sherlock Holmes” all over the place. Please allow me to tell you more about the snipers and why I had to betray your trust in me to protect you. But...if you don't want to see me ever again because of that, I'll respect your wish. There is a cab waiting outside this restaurant and it'll bring you wherever you want. You can walk out the door and I'll respect that you'll never want to see me again. If you do not want me to stay in London, I'll be prepared to travel to Berlin, and live there again. It is just a word from you. But if you want to listen to me, at least for a few minutes...then I'm actually sitting here in this restaurant, watching you reading this note. Look towards the kitchen and look at the man at the table nearby. By now I would have switched on the lamp again. Please.......”_

John looked up towards the kitchen..and there. At a table very close to the entrance to the restaurant's kitchen....there was the man John had noticed before. And it was indeed Sherlock. Oh God...it was Sherlock!

The anger bloomed in John again and he decided to tell that gentleman a word or two and John got up and started to walk towards that table and that...that charlatan!

______________________________

(From (mostly) Sherlock's point of view again)

Sherlock had watched John reading, drinking (too much) wine and hiding his face with his hands. He saw John get up on his feet and for one painstaking second or two, Sherlock thought John to walk towards the entrance to leave forever in the cab waiting outside.

For an outward spectator it would have looked as if John just walked towards Sherlock's table, but still being able to read at least some of John's 'signs', in Sherlock's eyes John was clearly 'stomping' towards him.

John stopped at the table and loomed...actually quite impressive for a man below average height....and leaned on his knuckles on the table, whilst he almost hissed, “One word, Sherlock, just one bloody fucking word to tell me that you were alive..... Don't fucking tell me that it wasn't safe until today!”

And then he lifted his right hand to emphasize his words, “Just one word!”

 

And then John noticed something. Sherlock didn't flinch, but there was something about his body-language. As if he stoically prepared him self to be hit by John...and just accepted it.

That inflated John's anger immediately, “Jesus, Sherlock. Did you think that I would hit you? When have I ever.......” and then John stopped talking and remembered that he had indeed hit Sherlock...and that by more than one occasion.

John slumped down on the chair in front of the table and looked at Sherlock.

“Well, I have, haven't I? And it is not that you do not deserve to be punched for letting me believe that you were dead...it is...it is just that I...that I'm glad that you are back. And you do owe me some serious explanations. And you can't talk with a broken jaw.”

The last sentence was said with a smirk and Sherlock answered with a matching one, before he continued, “John, I know I owe you some serious explanations, but believe me. You weren't really totally safe before today. Nor was I.”

And John understood, “Mary?”, he asked.

Sherlock was looking at his own hands, lying on the white cloth on the table, playing with the stem of his wine-glass, which only contained water. Painkillers and wine would not be a good combination. Then he looked at John with that intense gaze, that made John believe that Sherlock could read his very soul.

“We...that is Mycroft and I...just learned about 'Mary' today (“and please John...forgive me for lying to you about this”, thought Sherlock, “because this is neither the time or place to tell you about other parallel universes nor that I'm a time-traveller”), and Mycroft reacted as fast as he could. She was the sniper put on you and me at the pool and the one put on you as I had the confrontation with Moriarty on the rooftop.....and Mycroft's people couldn't locate this last sniper put on you...and on me. We disagree on that point, though, Mycroft and I...”

“What do you mean by that?”, wanted John to know, and his anger flared again. Not towards Sherlock, but towards that megalomaniac mad-man Moriarty and all those just as utterly mad and immoral people, who had been working for Moriarty. And especially that...that woman, who must have taken him for an utter fool...and laughed her ass off.

Sherlock looked at John and could easily read his thoughts....at least about that matter. Otherwise John still remained very much a mystery to Sherlock.

“Believe me, John, she was very skilled...and for what it is worth, she must have loved you genuinely. Otherwise you would have been dead.”

Now John frowned and asked again, “What do you now mean by that?”

“That is where Mycroft and I disagree. He believes that 'Mary' was the sniper put on you....and on me. To end you, if I hadn't jumped, even if Jim was dead, lying in his blood on the rooftop. She must have been able to see that through the scope on her rifle. And Mycroft believes that she was supposed to kill me too, if I hadn't jumped.”

Sherlock took a deep breath before he continued, “I do think that Moriarty survived. That his death was as false as mine.” (“Now I know he did...being a devil after all he would even have been able to survive a bullet through his brain.”, thought Sherlock, but didn't say it out loud) “Thinking back, there were only blood. No brain matter nor fragments of the skull. So he must have used blanks and capsules of fake blood hidden in his hair. Probably used contact lenses to look dead. And I was too shocked and didn't think of checking him afterwards. I had just discovered that I had to 'die' and couldn't think straight. I panicked by the thought that this could be the signal to kill you. Moriarty wanted me to leave England.....and do his job for him. disentangling not _his_ international network, but the network of his superior in order for Jim to takes over his organisation afterwards. Using me to do his job. After all: Moriarty never dirtied his own hands. And I was so scared that even my fall, my 'suicide', wouldn't be enough to save you, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. Mycroft's people had managed to locate and eliminate the snipers put on Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade, but not the one on you, so my brother couldn't send me the 'all clear' code, so I still had to jump to make the sniper believe that I died. That made it crucial that you stayed on that exactly spot, so the sniper couldn't see that I survived and...I'm so sorry John, but in order to save your life, your shock and grief had to be genuine or else she would have shot you.”

 

“Oh”, said John, shaking his head and sitting for a few seconds to think about what Sherlock had said before he continued, “And if Mycroft hadn't taken her into custody today, she would have killed you the moment, you were spotted in London again.”

 

Sherlock shook his head, “No...'they' knew I was alive and had faked my death long before that. My cover was blown more than four months ago and that lead me to hide in the woods in Serbia a while, before I was captured by Baron Maupertuis' men......and Mycroft had to get me out.”

 

John could hear that Sherlock did leave out at lot of things about 'Serbia', but it could wait because he had a cold sinking feeling in his stomach, “I started dating Mary about 6 months ago.....and she asked me so many questions about you, seemed so genuinely interested in my tales about you, and even more than what could be read on my blog. And I was more than happy to tell her everything. Oh god, Sherlock... _.I_ blew your cover!”

 

Sherlock smiled, “Oh John, please do not feel guilty about that. My cover wasn't blown because of you. It was blown because of a mole in Mycroft's organisation.”

 

And the relief on John's face was all the payment Sherlock needed for telling that lie. Or was it a lie? Sherlock had a feeling that Mary had 'changed horses midstream'...that she had been working for Sherrinford after Moriarty's 'death'.Maybe Sherrinford had promised her a better reward than Moriarty had? After all, Sherlock's subconsciousness had tried to tell him something during his drug-induced decent into his own mind-palace on the plane to Zagreb after Magnussen had been killed by Sherlock. Sherlock now knew about the connection between Mycroft and Mary...that she had worked for him, for MI6 before, and later as she was put on John to prevent him from shooting himself. But that Mary had abandoned Moriarty's original plan, was the only explanation why she had shot Sherlock at Magnussen's office (and she _had_ intended to kill him) and why there had been genuine fear on her face, as the video of Moriarty's 'Miss me' had appeared and that had prevented Sherlock from being sent back to his brother Sherrinford and more torture. Real torture with chemicals, so his mind would be destroyed and would be broken for real this time.

John had waited patiently as Sherlock was in deep thought and as Sherlock lifted his head and looked into John's eyes again, John smiled and made a gesture towards his wine-bottle, that he had fetched from his table, while Sherlock had been thinking.

“It is a good wine. It would be a shame to waste it.”, John said as he lifted the bottle and prepared to pour some in Sherlock's glass.

Sherlock covered his glass with his hand and that showed the bandages on the wrist of his right hand.

Sherlock just shook his head and said, “No...thank you. But no.”

And then John's brain finally processed what his eyes had noticed since he sat down close to Sherlock. That Sherlock was sitting with his back to the wall, and at a place where he was able to overlook most of the restaurant. There were new lines on Sherlock's face and a weariness that John new all too well. The look you had when you had been on too many battlefields, had been in life-threatening situations just too many times and experienced pain. Not too much to handle, but a bit too much to relax and Sherlock had at the same time an alertness that told John that Sherlock was in full 'combat-mode'. His eyes scanning the room all the time and he was tight coiled as a spring, ready to react immediately.

“All right” John said and put the bottle down again, “I suppose it would be a bad idea to mix I with the painkillers.”

Sherlock' attention snapped back to John and he opened his mouth and closed it again with an audible click.

“Don't say ' _I'm fine'_ , Sherlock, because I'm a doctor, I was _your_ doctor for a while...well more than two years ago.. and I know your 'signs' when you are in pain. So how bad is it?”

Sherlock saw no reason to lie, “Bad, but it'll heal. Most of all with scaring, but no loss of function. I'll have to have physiotherapy for my shoulders, but it has been arranged. And the surgeons in Berlin have made an excellent job. So no immediately need for a surgeon right now. It had all been taken care of....and I'll like to tell you a bit more. But this is not the place, nor the time. So the question is.....”, and now Sherlock dared to smirk, “Your place or mine?”

John looked at Sherlock and swallowed. It had sounded very serious....'surgeons'....'scaring'.......'physiotherapy'...but Sherlock was right. This was not the place. And then John remembered, “Oh...god. 'My place' was Mary's place as well. Where was she apprehended?”

“Just outside the clinic.”

“So.....no destruction at my flat. But Sherlock. Mary has been living there with me in my..our...flat for more than 4 months. I...I cant go back there. With all her flowers....and pillows......and blankets. Not now....”

And Sherlock understood. He winced a bit as he got up on his feet. The painkillers were wearing off a bit. He smiled at John, “Baker Street 221B it is then.”

And John smiled back.

  
  


  


 

 


	9. To Baker Street 221B

In the cab on their way to Baker Street, both men were silent for a while, but then John couldn't help asking, “How long were you captured before Mycroft got you out....and how long have you been back in London?”

Sherlock directed his attention towards John. Sherlock had been busy 'drinking in' London by night, feeling the familiar sound-picture washing over him and being rather happy that this was two years before Culverton would poison half of London and almost bring the civilization to an end. Sherlock would get another chance and the Culverton-future would never happen now.

Sherlock smiled, “You are actually asking me if you were the first I contacted, how fresh my wounds are, how bad they are and if somebody had taken good enough care of them, aren't you?”

 

“Well, I guess I am..”, said John.

 

“Well, let me see. You are the first, apart from Mycroft of course and the others, who knew I faked it. I'll tell you more about it later and the rest? It is a bit of a blur”... (“ _and more than two years ago in my mind, John, but I can't tell you that know_ ”, thought Sherlock). “I was captured by Maupertuis' men as my cover was blown. I managed to escape out in the woods and lived in there for about two months. Then they caught me again and I 'enjoyed their hospitality' for, I think, it must have been 3 weeks. They did beat me, forced me to stand on my feet while I was tethered to a wall, humiliated me, sleep-deprived me, wounded me with knifes and whips, but only superficial wounds, nothing too severe. No permanent damage. And the surgeons in Germany took care of them as soon as they could. And I returned from Berlin this morning.”

 

“Enjoyed their hospitality”, huffed John, “Your mentions of your injuries, Sherlock.....it wasn't 'hospitality'.... it sounds like god-damned torture!”

 

Sherlock shook his head, “No. Not really. No water-boarding...no chemicals. No injections. A severe beating, yes, bruises, welts and wounds and a few broken ribs....and humiliation. But you know just as I do, that there are so more efficient methods if you want information. They knew who I was....I was just being punished...”

 

Of course John knew, as a doctor, what could be done to a human body to make him or her talk and he had seen his fair share of torture-victims in Afghanistan, even if the enemy hadn't shown that much fantasy. But no matter how much Sherlock did try to downplay what had happened to him, John could hear the things that Sherlock didn't tell. And even what Sherlock told, it sounded like torture. It could have been so much worse....but it was bad enough as it was. John decided that he would give Sherlock time to tell about it....not when John wanted to know, but when Sherlock was ready.

 

And then Sherlock discovered that they were close to the Scotland Yard and asked the driver to stop and wait. And asked John to wait in the cab as well.

“I'm going to find Greg.....and tell him that I'm alive. Would you please wait a few moments, John?”

“Of course”, was the answer and it was only then that John discovered that it wasn't an ordinary cab after all, but one of Mycroft's cars.

John leant back in the seat, “And why does this not surprise me?”, he asked himself as his eyes followed the figure in his long coat descending down the stairs to the underground parking lot and John just wondered how Sherlock could know that Greg was there (and Sherlock had remembered Greg’s name!) and how Sherlock could have access to that parking lot.

_______________________________

In the parking area under Scotland Yard Greg Lestrade was searching his pockets for cigarettes as he heard a voice: “Those things will kill you.”  
Greg froze for a moment and then he almost yelled: “Ooh, you bastard!”  
Sherlock smiled as he walked closer to Greg, “It’s time to come back. You’ve been letting things slide, Greg.”  
“You do remember my name?”

“Oh...I thought it was time to get rid of that silly game.”

“What game?”

“I swore that I would never use your right name, because you insisted on calling me “William” the first times we met...”

Greg smiled and gave Sherlock a bear-hug, that did hurt Sherlock a lot, but he didn't show it, and they talked a bit about Greg's demotion and that Mycroft had made sure that he got financial compensated, while Greg was waiting......What he should be waiting for was Mycroft not so specific about, but Greg had been told about a time-frame of maybe a year or more.

“I thought Mycroft just wanted to restore you reputation. I genuinely believed you to be dead, Sherlock and I even discussed it with Anderson.”

Sherlock frowned, “Anderson?!”

Greg smiled, “You wouldn't believe it, but he is one of your biggest fans now. Has started a fan-club...” _We believe in Sherlock Holmes_ ” and he has proved rather exceptionally skills in tracking you all over the world. From the United States to Russia, to Belarus, to Germany to Belgium and then to Romania....But I think he lost track about 3 months ago..”

Sherlock shook his head, “Anderson of all people. And he was right about my route until Romania. Rather amazing that Anderson does show some skills....”

Then Sherlock paused, “It is late and I still have something to do. Please call Mycroft on this number, tomorrow, if you still have questions about you getting your job back. I'll be in touch...”and Sherlock disappeared into the dark corner of the parking area, while Greg was standing looking after him for a while before he found his car and drove home. He forgot all about his hunger for nicotine and discovered only much later that Sherlock had nicked his cigarettes and his lighter.

________________________  
Back in the 'cab' Sherlock asked John if he would see Mrs. Hudson first, without Sherlock, and tell her gently that Sherlock was alive, when they arrived at 221B.

Sherlock remembered all too well how much he had startled Mrs. Hudson the last time. This time he would do it better.

So John entered Baker Street 221B using the key, that he had never delivered back as he moved out. Actually a lot of his things would probably still be in the room upstairs and in the living-room, as John just had packed two duffel bags when he ...'fled' would be the right word. First to his sister Harry and then to the flat Harry had helped him to find and buy. Mycroft had contacted him and told him about the misunderstanding about his army pension, so suddenly John had enough money and Harry and he found that vacant flat rather quickly. Harry even helped him find furniture and decorate the flat and John had just decided to start from scratch again. The thought of going back to Baker Street to fetch more of his belongings was just...unbearable. So he bought what he needed and just left his things at Baker Street 221B.

______________________

Mrs. Hudson heard him as he entered and smiled as she saw him in the hall as she came from her flat. He had seen her the same afternoon, before he had taken a cab to The Landmark and they had talked about how he had 'moved on'. She had scolded him for not even calling her for almost a year and he had apologized and had told that he was going to propose to Mary.

So of course she wanted to know how the proposal went.

“Well...” she smiled, “Did she say yes? Of course she did...silly question. You are such a treasure!”

 

John shook his head, “No, Mrs. Hudson. She didn't even turn up, so I couldn't ask her.”

 

“Oh dear...”, Mrs. Hudson looked suddenly so sad, so John hurried to continue, “.......but someone else did. Someone we have missed dearly, both of us......”

 

She looked at John and covered her mouth with her hand, “You don't mean.......? I've had a suspicion, but you don't mean...?”

 

“Yes...Sherlock turned up...”

 

Mrs. Hudson sat down on the chair in the hall, “When Mycroft wanted to buy my house...and told me to leave everything untouched and take care of the flat, I sort of hoped...and then I just feared that it was just his strange way of coping. He moved the skull and the violin though...and then I thought....and then you had left, John....”

 

Sherlock's voice could be heard, “Martha.....put yourself together, please. And yes I'm back.” and he knelt down in front of her and took her hands, “Only today I could be totally sure that you all were safe, if I returned. Moriarty had snipers put on you, Martha, and on Lestrade and on John. I had to make almost everybody believe that I had committed suicide to get the snipers called back.....and yet I was afraid that Jim by killing himself had just forced the snipers to shoot. I'm so sorry to have you all go through so much.....but I had no choice!”

 

Mrs. Hudson smiled and padded Sherlock on his cheek before she finally gave him a hug, “I'm just glad you are back, Sherlock. I had my suspicions, but never dared to hope.”

 

And then she sort of pushed him away before she continued, “But I do hope that you understand what you did to John? He almost killed himself...even if he would deny it. He 'was fine' he said, but he wasn't!”

 

Sherlock turned his head and caught John's eyes, “Yes, Martha. I know how much I've hurt him and I hope that he some day may forgive me for the hurt and sorrow I've caused him.”

 

Martha smiled and continued, “Oh...I almost forgot. Two of Mycroft's men came earlier with a box and told me to keep it, until someone would ask for it. Is it now? Was it for you Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock rose and looked towards Mrs. Hudson's kitchen, “I think it was. Is the kitchen...the flat.... upstairs habitable?”

 

“Almost..”, was Mrs. Hudson's answer, “I've kept it clean since John moved out. And I even just left his things, hoping that he might pop in and talk, while he would fetch his last things.” She looked towards John a bit angrily before she continued, “But you never did, did you?”

 

John shook his head and explained, “If I had stayed I would have lost my mind. And afterwards it just became increasingly difficult to return to Baker Street. I just couldn't.....”

 

Mrs. Hudson's anger disappeared quickly again and she said, “I understand, John, I really do. You can use my kitchen. I've just made tea. And you can eat some of the sandwiches I've made for tomorrow's ….what did you always call it, Sherlock, my 'Kaffee-Klatch'? You look hungry, both of you!”

 

And with that last remark she disappeared up the 17 steps to 221B to 'tidy up a bit and light a fire in the fireplace' as she said.

Sherlock and John got rid of their coats and sat down at Mrs. Hudson's kitchen table and drank some tea and began eating some of her sandwiches, that Sherlock found in the fridge.

___________________________

After they had both eaten more than 4 sandwiches...and yes, they had been hungry both of them, John looked at Sherlock and asked, “May I have a look on your back? You seem to be in pain, and you mentioned that Greg gave you a 'bear-hug'...so may I?”

 

Sherlock looked suddenly a bit embarrassed as he prepared to take of his jacket and his shirt which indeed had red stains on it, “It is not a pretty sight.....and somehow a monument to all my failures.....” he continued as he sat down on one of the chairs the other way round, so John had more access to his back.

 

John looked at Sherlock for a few moments and then he began to remove his tie and take of his jacket and his shirt...and that was the moment where Mrs. Hudson returned.

 

“Oh...I'm sorry.” said John and tried to get his shirt back on.

 

“Oh don't mind me, both of you. I've been married. As long as you keep your pants on, I'm OK with that. And you'll have to look at Sherlock's back. He is bleeding.” , and with that remark Mrs. Hudson disappeared into her living room. 

 

John and Sherlock looked at each other and began to giggle.

 


	10. Cunning Mrs. Hudson

John took off his shirt again and Sherlock could see his scar on the shoulder as John asked, “Is this embarrassing? A 'monument to my failures'?”

“No! But this is different. Your scar is there because you bravely tried to save others. It is a monument to sacrifice, to courage, to bravery....”

“And how is your scars different? Now you listen to me, Sherlock Holmes! What you did to save us all was a sacrifice. You have fought Moriarty's network all over the world alone....

 

“Not totally alone...” murmured Sherlock.

 

“.....almost totally alone. If that is not bravery and courage, then I don't know what it is!”

 

And John went to the sink to wash his hands and took a pair of nitril-gloves from the box filled with bandages, dressings and everything needed, that Mycroft's men had placed in Mrs. Hudson's flat.

Sherlock turned his head towards John, “But it is still different! You were a soldier and you fought in a war...”

 

“And so did you! A war against criminality. Against the organisation of a madman. That is not different. And now let me have a look at your back, dammit!”

 

And Sherlock obediently took of his shirt and turned his back to John...and Mrs. Hudson who came back just then.

 

Both of them gasped as they saw Sherlock's back. John couldn't place his hand anywhere on Sherlock's back without touching a dressing. They were sitting criss-cross all over in various sizes and kinds. From the rather advanced that covered the broken ribs on Sherlock's left side to the large ones that covered the whiplashes on his right shoulder to the small ones covering the burn-marks from cigarettes both on the left side and the right side.

And those on the upper half of his back had been bleeding a bit.

 

“You can change all of them, if you deem it necessary, except the ones over the broken ribs. They are supposed to stay fixed for the next weeks. “, said Sherlock into the silence and thought about the last time, where the damage, because John had been beating him, had been so much worse and where he had hidden the damage from Mrs. Hudson as well as from John and had called Mycroft the next morning as he couldn't get out of bed and he had been looked after by Mycroft's doctors, until he had healed properly.

Now John's professional curiosity took over as he looked closer at the bandage over the broken ribs, “Is that the new treatment, with polymer-injections?”, he wanted to know.

 

Sherlock looked back over his shoulder, “You know about that? It is still on trial...”

 

“Yeah, but they mentioned it on a conference last month. You should be almost without pain from the broken ribs?”

 

“Almost. And it'll heal faster too.”

 

“Good!” and then John went into doctor-mode and began to remove the bloody dressings to have a look on the wounds underneath.

When he had finished and had re-stitched the three wounds that needed that, he saw that Mrs. Hudson held a glass of water and some pills as she said, “He'll need them. He is in a lot of pain, even if he doesn't want to give it away.”, she said and John looked at the pills with a frown, “I do understand it is necessary, but with his history of...”

 

And then Sherlock began to giggle, “Oh John..” , he said as he reached for the pills, “I am not.... nor have I ever been an addict. The marks on my arms were carefully made with salt-water and a bit too big needle. I have only used at two occasions, when I was very young and foolish, and thought 'never again' because it soothed my mind, yes, but blurred it too. And I didn't like that. I found other ways to still my mind and I have only used Benzedrine and amphetamines and morphine when it was crucial to my survival, while I was away.”

 

And John looked into Sherlock's eyes and saw only honesty.

 

“But why?”

 

“Because it was smarter to give my meddling brother a false pressure-point, than having him figuring out some real ones.”

__________________________

They sat in the kitchen for a while longer, Mrs. Hudson, John and Sherlock. They would have to wait a bit before the flat upstairs would have a decent temperature and Sherlock told a bit more about why he had so many bandages on his back.

He explained, “The surgeons in Berlin did think that they could just as well 'repair' a bit on some old scars from the beginning of my journey. I didn't always have the opportunity to get to a proper doctor, so in order to make the scarring lesser, they operated a bit more on my back than strictly necessary. The fresher wounds from Serbia were not so many in numbers and the surgeons' efforts should make it easier to heal without scars, that would limit my movements or just be too sensitive.”

 

Mrs. Hudson had listened and then she rose and said, “I think you could use some of my ointment again, Sherlock.”

 

He smiled at her, “That Woodoo-magic-secret-ointment that you had purchased form an old American witch?”

 

She gave him a pat on his shoulder, “Silly...it was an ointment that my grandmother's sister taught me to make. It is Cornish and not at all American!”

_________________________

John had wanted to know what they had talked about but Sherlock had asked him to wait until Mrs. Hudson came back from upstairs, where her bedroom was.

“It is rather late...”, she said, “I do not need so much sleep and if it is OK with you two young men, I can tell how Sherlock came to use this ointment..”

And John assured her that he wanted to hear the story.

 

“Oh well, “, Mrs. Hudson began, “It was when I was married to Frank. We had met as I was...well 'an exotic dancer'...and wipe that smile of your face , John Watson, because it is not a euphemism for 'strip-tease' or worse. It was dancing! Well, Frank could be ever so charming and I fell for him. He was good in bed too....and stop smirking Sherlock! It is as if you young people think you have invented sex. I can assure you that is not the case! Well, I did some book-keeping and answered the phone. In short worked as a sort of secretary for Frank, even if I didn't know the extent of his involvement with the Mafia then. I'll have to give Frank that: he was clever...had people put in front of him as 'stooges', so no one noticed that he was 'the big shark'. Sherlock had been sent from England to USA to investigate...and you must have been 25?”

 

John frowned, “But I thought that you were at the university then?”

 

Sherlock smiled, “I was...but you see, John. MI5 and MI6...well it is sort of a family business...”

 

“What?!”

 

“The leader of Secret Intelligent Service here in England and abroad was my mothers' sister Marjorie. That is why Sh....I, Sherlock Holmes (“ _Oh my...I almost told about Sherrinford already_ ,” thought Sherlock) and Mycroft worked for both MI5 and MI6 from an early age and why I really didn't joke about Mycroft now being MI5 and MI6 and even the CIA on a good day. Mycroft inherited the position after her....sort of. The power is now divided between three persons. It is more safe like that, if something should happen to one of them. Mycroft is one of those three....and the head.”

 

John had to think about that. He had known Mycroft to have immense power, he just realised how much by now...and wondered why he was still alive after he rather openly had threatened Mycroft after he had blamed Mycroft for 'selling' his brother to Moriarty.

 

“Oh..”, was the only thing he could say.

 

And Mrs. Hudson continued, “Sherlock had been sent to help CIA and FBI to investigate. He looked so young then, and his face...I'm sorry, Sherlock, but your face looked like you could have been an angel. He could easily pose as being only 16 years old and pose as being an exchange-student. He had been put on Frank, as no one expected Frank to be more than an 'errand-boy'...”

Mrs. Hudson paused for a moment before she continued, “Frank was two persons. Just as charming as he could be, just as unfeeling and cruel could he be as well.” She paused again, “He was an abuser, a male-chauvinist and cruel and violent. And then he could turn on a dime and be nice and caring. I never knew for certain which mood he was showing. With Frank it was either 'Heaven' or 'Hell'........”

Her voice faded and she was silent for a moment before she continued, “Sherlock had come too close to Frank's liking and his tugs decided to teach that young curious boy a lesson. When I found him, he had been tortured for hours.....”

 

Sherlock interrupted, “Beaten, yes, but Martha, dearest...not torture. Just a severe beating.”

 

She smiled at him, “Well, young man. I would say being bound to a wall and whipped with electric cords until your skin broke....I would call that torture.”

 

Now John interrupted, “Whipped? But your had no scars...I mean, at Buckingham Palace..?”

 

Sherlock smiled, “No...no scars thanks to the mystical magical Woodoo-cream. Martha had found me after they had beaten me. Treated me with that cream. Did hide me right under Frank's nose, literally in a room in their basement..and then we started gathering evidence against him, Martha and I. Found enough to prove that he had murdered more than 10 people directly and had given order to several other murders. Found out that he was the head of the whole organisation.”

 

Mrs. Hudson interrupted, “Sherlock knew the ' _what'_ to look after and I knew the ' _where'_ to look. It is rather foolish to treat the one, who keeps your books and types every order down, cruelly. And a year later, after Frank had been executed after having been on the death row for only a year, I was finally free and travelled around in The States, before I returned to England, to Cornwall to live with my sister and then I inherited Baker Street....and we met again.....”

 

John was still rather puzzled by the fact that Sherlock had been that wounded before. Nothing had been to be seen on his back as he almost lost his sheet at Buckingham Castle. A very fond memory for John.

 

“You are still thinking about 'Buckingham' aren't you?”, asked Sherlock and took of his shirt again. “The scars are there, but only if you look carefully. Martha....show him were they are supposed to be.“

 

And as Mrs. Hudson pointed at Sherlock's back, John was able, as he took his penlight, to see faint, almost invisible, discolourations on Sherlock's back.

 

“I've never...if that is what your cream can do, Mrs. Hudson...”

 

“ _Martha_! Remember I've seen you shirtless, John and I think it is about time to be on a first-name-basis now....”

 

He smiled at her and continued, “Martha. If that is what your cream can do, than a lot of people could use that. Hell...even I would like some of it, even if my scar is old now.”

 

She smiled, “I'll fetch another jar. Just you wait down here.” and she disappeared for a few moments, before she returned with another jar of cream.

 

Sherlock laughed, “You are never going to get the secret out of her. I've tried for years. I know the ingredients....but it is the procedure which carries the secret...”

 

Mrs. Hudson smiled, “My cream is not needed. There are others with the similar effect out there, as for instance 'Mederma' and others....and the procedure can't be repeated on an industrial scale..”

Mrs. Hudson's eyes were sparkling now, “And it is so difficult to find black roosters and virgins here in London!”

 

And they started to laugh all three of them.

____________________________

Finally they decided that it was time for bed, and John and Sherlock walked up the 17 steps to their former flat. John continued up to his room after having said 'Good night' to Sherlock and had made sure that Sherlock could manage on his own, but John returned a few minutes after with clattering teeth, “It is a deep-freezer up there. I'll skip on the sofa, if it is OK with you?”

 

Mrs. Hudson had sneaked out into the hall and could hear John and Sherlock talk. It had taken some effort to make John's room that cold. She had broken the vent on the radiator and had opened the window, as she had fetched the first jar of ointment and had had time to close the window the second time she had been to her bedroom fetching the second jar. She smiled, they were such a bunch of idiots, those two and they could need a little pushing and meddling, if they should admit their feelings for each other.

 

Upstairs Sherlock looked at John, “Don't be an idiot. My bed is big enough for both of us. We have shared beds before...and honestly John, I'm so tired that you don't have to fear for your virtue.”

 

And that was the moment where John decided to be brave and just do as Sherlock said.

“You still do owe me some serious explanations tomorrow, you know that!”, John said.

 

“I know, John”, said Sherlock and yawned and they ended up in the bathroom together where they found out that Mrs. Hudson had placed fresh fluffy towels, new toothbrushes, toothpaste, shaving gear, deodorants and flannels. Even Sherlock's favourite shampoo and conditioner and washing gel was there together with John's favourite brands.

Sherlock smiled, “Courtesy of big brother...”

 

“But how could he know that I would be here?”, wanted John to know.

 

“I just think he anticipated.....”

 

And John just thought about that as he slipped under the duvet on the right side of the bed and bad Sherlock's back a good night and got a very sleepy answer back.

  
  


 


	11. A good night and an even better morning

During the night John was awake a few times and allowed himself to think about what had happened and he couldn't help smile a bit in the dark, as he heard Sherlock's soft breath and ...almost...snore. It did surprise John a bit that he wasn't more surprised than he was. Lying here in the dark besides Sherlock felt somehow......right. And with that thought John just succumbed to sleep again.

 

In the morning John found himself spooning Sherlock. They were so close that it was inevitable that Sherlock would notice John's 'morning wood' and John realised to his embarrassment that Sherlock had been awake for a while and John tried to roll away with an awkward “I'm terrible sorry", thinking, “Shit, shit...”

 

But Sherlock just grappled his arm and held him even closer with a surprisingly firm grip and said, “Stay! It is the first night in a very long time, where I've slept a whole night through and that without nightmares.”

And John realised that it was the same for him, so he chuckled and said, “Me too.”, even if he was still very embarrassed.

 

Sherlock turned around and looked at John. It was still rather dark in the bedroom, and that made it somehow easier.

“I...I didn't tell you the whole truth yesterday. I couldn't because you would have thought I had gone totally bonkers. But John......my body is this age, that you see....or 'not see' as it is still rather dark inhere. My mind, my soul is a bit more than two years older. I have travelled in time. And I know it sound like utter madness, but will you please listen?”

 

John nodded and said, “I'll listen. I promised to do that yesterday. So that is what I'm doing.”

 

Sherlock turned so he was lying on his back and hissed, because he was sore, but he kept John's hand firmly in his own and had placed it over his heart.

And then he asked...almost off topic, “Are you aware of the recent theories about 'multi-verses'? That CERN plans to prove the existence with some tests? The idea of more than 4 dimensions and the 'Super-string-theory' as mentioned by Steven Hawking and the Dane Holger B. Nielsen with more than ten dimensions? And their idea that other universes might exist just beside our own?”

 

“Yeah..I have heard about it. Not that I'll say that I understand it. But I've heard about it.”

 

“It is not my area either...astro-physics...being a chemist. But that I'm here...now, it is a proof. It is the second time I live in the year 2013. It is my second chance. My soul, and yes, we do have a soul, was helped to travel back in time. Something happened and I was ...'rewarded' and allowed to go as far back in time as we could. And it was even a bit longer back in time than originally 'allowed'. The one who helped me was from another world. There are other worlds out there. Just beside ours...and we have visitors., have now and have had for along time.”

 

“Aliens?”

 

“No, not 'aliens', because they would be from this universe. No...visitors from the other Universes.”

 

And Sherlock told about the Egyptian Gods and the Scandinavian Gods and the Greek Gods. And all the other species that had visited earth to teach and guide. But he didn't mention the Angles and the Devils yet. And did not mention the 'removal' of the descendants and the pure-blood devils either.

 

He turned towards John and explained, “I can tell you something that might be a proof of my time-travel: the ring...the ring that you wanted to use to propose to Mary. It had been your grandmothers.....and you had cleaned it yourself. A decent job, but not professional done. Because you only decided to propose as you had been given the reservation on The Landmark by a colleague, who couldn't use it himself.”

 

John looked at Sherlock with his mouth open.

 

And Sherlock continued, “This afternoon you can watch that terrible series 'The Ashtington Family' episode 324, I think it is, and you'll be told who the father of the child is. It is the uncle!”

 

Sherlock hesitated before he continued, “In your flat you have a skull-bottle in the cupboard in the living room. A bottle Harry bought on a flee-market and gave to you when she helped you decorate your flat. The nice sofa-set of an excellent quality, is in an OK shade of green, that would match the wallpaper in the living room here at Baker Street and you got it as a bargain, because there is a stain on one of the chairs, and you cover it with a pillow. In your bathroom the fifth tile from the bathtub has a thin fine line through the middle and it looks a bit like my profile.”

 

Sherlock stopped and looked at John, who could only whisper, “The only way you could now that, is if you have been in my flat...and you can't have....”

 

Sherlock smiled, “And yet I have....between now and about two years out in the future. And now it gets really difficult, because I have to tell two stories at the same time. And I can't do that. Tell you what happened between now and two years out in the future and then what happened right there during only a few days that lead me to travel back in time to now. And it would not make any sense, unless I told it almost simultaneously.”

 

Sherlock flipped back on his back and let out a frustrated sigh, “I don't know where to begin?”

 

John smiled, “I could start with a little secret of my own? Something I've never told anyone, because they might have thought, that I was crazy.”

 

It had gone a bit lighter in the bedroom and Sherlock turned towards John and said, “Yes?”

 

Now John gathered all his courage and said, “But before I do that, I'll ask you a favour.”

 

“All right.”

 

“Close your eyes and...imagine that we are back in Angelo's restaurant. Our first meal there, OK?”

 

“OK”, Sherlock nodded and had closed his eyes, but kept John's hand in his...and John found that that was a positive sign.

 

“We are sitting at the table....actually keeping an eye on the street as well. And I wanted to learn more about you.....”, said John's voice.

 

“Yes?”

 

“You said something about a second chance, yesterday and just now...and maybe....maybe I want a second chance too.....”

 

Sherlock still kept his eyes closed and wondered where John was heading....he didn't mean to...did he?

 

John's voice...and somehow he had managed to make it sound younger. Just like then, “ _People don’t have arch-enemies._ ”, he said. 

 

It took Sherlock a few seconds to recognize their conversation from then, but he could remember every word. So he 'picked up the line' and continued with his words from then. Oh God....it was so many years ago, _“I’m sorry?”_ , Sherlock said.

  
“ _In real life. There are no arch-enemies in real life. It doesn’t happen.”_ , said John's voice.

  
“ _Doesn’t it? Sounds a bit dull.”_ ,....and Sherlock remembered how much he had tried to impress John.

 

_“So whom did I meet?”_

  
Sherlock began to giggle, he couldn't help it. _“The Queen!”_ , he said and then he got serious and remembered what he had said then, but he could hear John giggle too.

 

_“What do real people have, then, in their ‘real lives’?”_ , Sherlock asked.

  
_“Friends; people they know; people they like; people they don’t like ... Girlfriends, boyfriends ...”_

  
And Sherlock all too well remembered his answer, “ _Yes, well, as I was saying – dull.”_

 

_“You don’t have a girlfriend, then?”_ , asked John...again... now more than two years away from the time, where he had said those words the first time.

  
_“Girlfriend? No, not really my area._ ”, answered Sherlock, his answer from back then.

  
“ _Oh, right. Do you have a boyfriend?”_ (Oh...that was why John said something about a second chance......Well, Sherlock could wait for his right moment now) as John continued, _“Which is fine, by the way._ ”

  
_“I **know** it’s fine._ ”, said Sherlock, waiting for his cue and being a bit impressed that John could remember almost every word, too.

  
“ _So you’ve got a boyfriend then?”_

 

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at John and squeezed his hand, “Are you applying for the job?” instead of saying, what he had said then.

 

“What if I am?”

 

And then Sherlock remembered what John had said repeatedly and said himself, “But you are not gay? A fact that you have yelled so many times, almost from every rooftop here in London...and elsewhere too.”

 

Sherlock looked away and removed his hands from John's and continued, “I once made the mistake to force my 'freakish homosexual love' upon a very heterosexual friend. I'm not going to make that mistake again. I value our friendship too much. I'm sorry if I've made you believe that I......”

 

And Sherlock felt a heaviness in his chest and his throat. He had hoped...stupidly..But of course John couldn't....

 

But John interrupted him, “I said 'I'm not gay'...I might even have yelled it. It wasn't easy for me, being brought up in a very Catholic family and later in my youth seeing all the trouble Harry got from confessing her sexual orientation. But I've never claimed to be totally straight either.....and the Kinsey-scale is not an absolute. I'm bi-sexual, Sherlock. I'm not a straight man, flirting with the thought of being homosexual. I'm not gay and confused. I.Am.Bi! I've known men as well. Intimately.... and I would very much like to apply for the 'job' as your boyfriend. That is if you want me...and not are 'married to your work'?”

 

Sherlock took John's hand again, not quite ready to believe his own ears, “I think I got a divorce, a bit before I jumped from the roof...”

 

And John suddenly realised, that Sherlock had allowed his name to be slandered, had accepted to be in the media, even if it was a very stupid idea for a 'private' detective, had accepted to loose his job.

 

“You sacrificed everything to get to Moriarty, didn't you? Even your precious job?”

 

“It wasn't important any more. Moriarty had dared to put his hand on something more precious to me. It could not be tolerated!”

 

John nodded, “I didn't see it then, but I see it now. You were prepared to sacrifice everything for me. Even you own safety, your own life. To keep me safe.....Oh Sherlock....”

 

And John gave Sherlock a hug and Sherlock winced.....he was in pain now and John immediately discovered that, “Oh...I'm so sorry..”

 

Sherlock smiled, “Don't be. It is worth a bit of pain to know that you are not mad at me...and even...”, his voice faded.

 

He turned around and grappled John's face in his big hands and looked John in the eyes, “Can I...May I?”

 

And John smiled, savouring the fact that Sherlock had lost his usual eloquence.....and then their lips met. John had thought that Sherlock might have been inexperienced, but he wasn't. John was a good kisser...and so was Sherlock. John had never felt like that before. It was as if their lips touching had lit a fire and he felt a tingling all over. He groaned and Sherlock...purred?

 

As they finally stopped kissing because they needed to breathe, they rested their foreheads together and John said, “Wow......we should have done that a long time ago..”

 

“No...no way. Then I couldn't have left you. And we would both be dead by now.”

 

John shook his head, “I'm sorry to say this. Ruining the mood. But I 'died' as you jumped, Sherlock. This night was the first night where I slept without dreaming of you dying in various ways. Most of them ending with you on the pavement with a crushed skull and dead eyes. I know and accept why you had to do it. But I still had those dreams....”

 

Sherlock was silent for a moment before he said, “And tonight was the first night where I slept without seeing you die in various ways: blown to pieces wearing a Semtex-vest, dying with a nice little hole in your head from a snipers bullet, your head vanishing into a bloody dust because of a bullet.”

 

He sighed and gave John's hand a squeeze, “The only difference was that when I woke, I knew that you were safe here in London.....”

 

“Yeah...and I 'knew' you were dead...”

 

Sherlock had tears in his eyes, “And I had not imagined how deeply affected you had been...I never thought that you.....”

 

“Loved you? Because I do, Sherlock. I do...”

 

“So please, John, forgive me for all the hurt and sorrow and grief I've caused you!”

 

“Of course...of course I forgive you.”

 

And then they kissed again until they both agreed that they really needed to go to the loo.

__________________________

John had said that he would tell a secret from his own life, but they agreed on waiting till after breakfast. Bathing, changing Sherlock’s dressings and shaving could wait too. Sherlock would need some food into his stomach so he could get his medication, before he was in too much pain.

 

John worried if there would be anything in the fridge and in the cupboard that would be less than two years old, but found out that everything in the fridge and in the cupboards were new and fresh.

“How?”, he wanted to know as he gestured towards the eggs and the bacon and the tomatoes in the fridge.

 

“I suppose Mycroft had people to bring it while we slept....and...” Sherlock opened the door to the staircase and pointed at two duffle-bags standing there...”I think they have been at your old flat too, to get you some of your stuff.”

 

John laughed, “I guess sometimes there could be advantages of having a meddling brother like Mycroft.”

 

Sherlock smiled and continued, “You know you have to go back to the flat......”, and then he hurried to explain as he saw an emotion flicker across Johns face, ”....Oh god, not to live there. Baker Street is just as much your home as it is mine. 'Your' more than mine actually, as you have in fact lived here longer. But you'll have to get the rest of your stuff and figure out what to do with it.....” Sherlock's voice faded and he looked at John, ”......Or am I jumping to conclusions? You don't want to live here with me?”

 

John gave him a hug, “Of course I do, you idiot.....it is just. It still surprises me to have you here. To have everything I've dreamt of. You. Alive. A bit battered, but alive and that we are boyfriends now. Oh god. It sounds so....”

 

“Dull? Pedestrian? Cheesy?”

 

John laughed and kissed Sherlock again, “All of it....and none of it. It is the most beautiful word in English...apart from 'idiot'.......”

 

“I love you too..”, said Sherlock when they had finished kissing.

 

They hadn't needed to worry about breakfast, because just as they had stopped kissing, they could hear Mrs. Hudson's “Yahuu, boys, are you decent? I have breakfast for you.”

 

And there she was, carrying a tray with fresh made breakfast and she refused to eat together with them. “I still have my make ready for my Kaffee-Klatch. I need to make some more sandwiches..”

 

And then she disappeared down the stairs.

 

“She is so happy to have us back..”, said John.

 

“Mmm...and together as we should be, as she saw from the beginning.”, was Sherlock's answer.

 

“Never doubt the 'Oracle from Delphi' who is currently living at Baker Street in London..”, said John.

 

“Who?”

 

But John just smiled, “No...I do not believe you did delete that. Not with your knowledge about the Greek Gods.”

 

And Sherlock just smiled.

_____________________

And it was just like that. Easy...as if the world had just given a little 'click' and Sherlock was put in his right place and John too.

No fighting, no accusations, no raging anger from John, no beating, no broken nose. Just one night in bed together, some kissing and the world had tilted on its axe.

 

But Sherlock still worried. So many things were still unsolved. So many 'elephants' still left to be mentioned. But right now he would concentrate on his breakfast and 'cross the next bridges' when he reached them.

 


	12. More from the past

After breakfast the two men began to get ready to shave. Both of them wanting it to be done, before they showered, because the shower would require a lot of work: Sherlock’s bandages would have to be covered before the shower and maybe changed afterwards. So they had agreed of doing the shaving before everything else.

Sherlock had started with his foam and his safety razor and was half finished as John entered after having put the remnants of their breakfast aside and John just began to use his electric razor, that Mycroft's people had fetched in John's old flat, and John was so occupied, that he didn't notice Sherlock's reaction at first.

Sherlock had stopped shaving and was sitting on the loo...shaking.

 

John stopped immediately and knelt in front of Sherlock, “What is wrong?”

 

“Flashbacks!”, whispered Sherlock and allowed John to hug him until the shaking stopped. It had taken Sherlock by surprise that he reacted like that. After all it was more than two years ago that he had been in Serbia, but his body had reacted.....and to his body it had only been a few days since he was helped to escape Serbia.

_____________________________

John had taken Sherlock's hand and held them for a while, just soothing them with his thumbs as he said, “I've got you. You are here in London. Safe.”

 

And it helped. The touch and John's voice. Sherlock smiled as he had finished shaking, “I didn't think I would react like that. But my body betrayed me....”

 

John smiled a bit worried, “What happened? Serbia?”

 

Sherlock swallowed, “Yeah. In Serbia, as I had escaped out in the woods and during those two years I was around the world, I often had a beard. Mostly because it was a good disguise, and then out in the woods, it was a bit difficult to shave. I was busy surviving. As I was caught, their leader...”

 

“I remember something mentioned in the news.”, John interrupted, “About a criminal in Serbia, whose castle had been blown to pieces. A Baron Maupertuis? Was it where you were captured?...He was the leader?”

 

“No...no...their _real_ leader. The one who did run the whole organisation, including the Russian Mafia. The real criminal mastermind genius......”

 

“Moriarty?”

 

“Oh God no. Not him either. Moriarty was only a vassal-king, nothing more. Moriarty was the man, who was allowed to run only the West-European branch. The 'second-in-command' and that irked him to no end. No...the real mastermind came personally to 'inspect' me. And he ordered some of the tugs to 'keep me well-shaven' as he wanted to be able to 'look at my facial expressions'...and they used an electrical razor every second day, just before they would......punish me.”

 

“Oh...I see.“, said John, “Well, if it bothers you, I can use a safety razor instead. It was what I used in Afghanistan anyway. But it is a bit weird that he wanted to see your face.”

 

“Not the whole of it. I was blindfolded, when he was near.”

 

“I think we need to talk”, said John, “But not here. Somewhere more comfortable...”

___________________________

And they went into the living-room and sat down on the couch facing each other and holding each others hands. It was easier to talk about difficult topics while touching each other.

Sherlock looked at John and decided that now was just as good a time as ever.

 

“We.... we were more siblings than Mycroft and I. We had a big brother....3 years Mycroft's senior and...and we had a little sister too. She died very young. I can tell more about her later...”

 

“There were four of you?!”

 

“Yeah....and Sherrinford was close to be a genius too. Mycroft is very good at organizing things. To keep numerous balls in the air at the same time. He is rather successful in suppressing his feelings too. To appear cold, ominous and distant.. The 'Ice-man', as Irene called him. Actually, John, Mycroft is 'Spock' so much more than I am. I know what I can do...and that better than Mycroft: I can connect almost invisible dots. See the whole picture with actually too little data as a base. And can keep a lot of balls in the air too, but I'm not as good as Mycroft to organize....”

 

“You could have fooled me...” murmured John. 

 

Sherlock stopped and looked at John with a smile, before he continued, “....But he can't see the bigger picture without sufficient data. Sherrinford wasn't as skilled as Mycroft and I, but close to being a genius non the less. So he was good at organizing things, to appear ominous and scarring and to see ...'patterns'.....and John. Sherrinford was the leader of that vast criminal organisation. The organisation that I almost ruined. That I had managed to ruin during my two years away. I had caused so much damage, that Sherrinford refused to believe that it was almost only one man's work. And as a revenge he decided to break me, to ruin me....to make me into an obedient slave, as a gift for one of his collaborators in Europe.” (Sherlock didn't want John to know that that 'collaborator' was Mycroft) “He thought that the special 'treatment', I received from him, and him alone, would have been enough to break me.”

 

Sherlock paused and John just looked at him.

 

And then John understood, “Oh, Jesus. Your brother raped you!”

 

Sherlock nodded, “Pictures were taken and a film was made and sent. Sherrinford never left the assumption that I was an 'idiot' and in no way as brilliant as he and Mycroft were. They were very close as children, until Sherrinford was sent away on boarding school at the age of eleven. Mycroft was almost eight then and I was just a baby.”

 

Sherlock continued telling John almost the same things that he had told the Erinye, about how sensitive he had been as a child and that Mycroft had found a way to soothe him. How Mycroft had not attended Harrow's like Sherrinford did at the age of eleven, but had been home-tutored because he was needed at home, because their parents had been so often to the hospital with little fragile Alexandra.

Sherlock told how Sherrinford and Mycroft had been close and that had made Sherlock avoid both brothers in the holidays.

 

“Mycroft was cold, distant and almost cruel towards me when Sherrinford was around.”, explained Sherlock. 

 

Sherlock told how Mycroft had been sent to Harrow's at the age of 14 to finish his education and how Sherlock had then taken care of Alexandra. Had read stories for her.

 

Sherlock paused a moment before he continued, “She died as I was reading ‘The Hobbit’ for the umpteenth time and I had reached the point in the story where Bilbo had returned to the Shire. She had sighed and said that it must have been wonderful to come home like that...and then she stopped talking. I thought she had fallen asleep.....”

 

He looked at John and said, “I didn’t speak for two months. Almost didn't leave my bed unless I needed to go to the loo. I survived on tea and biscuits and was curled up in my bed the most of the time. My parents didn't know what to do with me, but refused, thank God, to give me the medication that our foolish doctor had prescribed. Someone finally gave my parents the advice, that they should give me a dog to look after. He was my best friend the next 5 years, until he got cancer and had to be put down. I felt very guilty, because I hadn’t discovered in time, that he had such a disease.”

 

“It wasn't your fault”, said John.

 

“No...I know _now._ ”, said Sherlock, “But not then. No one spoke to me about it and I felt that the death of Alexandra and Redbeard somehow was my fault.”

 

Sherlock continued to tell how they, all three brothers, had been recruited to work for MI5 and MI6, as they got old enough. About his aunt Marjorie who had been the leader of the British Secret Intelligence.

 

“You should know about her, John. She was your boss too.”

 

“What do you mean by that?!”

 

“Oh come on...the missing year on your CV. You worked for MI6. You worked as a sharpshooter. Actually your skills, when you shot the cabbie, sort of gave you away.”

 

John smiled and admitted his work for MI6, “Yeah...and that was with my 'bad' hand. It would have been more precise before my left shoulder was ruined.”

 

Of course Sherlock had figured that out. And probably Mycroft too. But Sherlock did read John's thoughts and said, “No...it was _I_ who knew. _I_ told Mycroft. You managed to delude him. Quite an achievement!”

 

Then Sherlock turned serious and told about that disastrous Christmas where he was 18, Mycroft 25 and Sherrinford almost 28, where he had found out and told about Sherrinford being a double agent. How Sherrinford had disappeared and apparently had been found as a corpse in France. He told how a lot of people believed Mycroft to have found out about the double-crossing and Mycroft did use the incident to nail his reputation as an ’ice-man’ with very high moral principles, even prepared to sacrifice his own brother.

Sherlock took a deep breath and continued, “I never finished my last exam as a chemist at the Camford University. When the time for the exam came, I was unfortunately tied to a chair in a room in France, watching my fellow agent being tortured to death. Not that I was unharmed, but he was the one who did bleed to death before we were rescued and brought back to London. None of us had given away any information though....But I broke down as soon as I was back in London....”

Sherlock paused, “And that was the second time I disappeared into the depths of the underworld of London.....and the second time I tried to numb my mind with heroin...and the last time.”

 

John looked at him and asked, “And the first time? Do you want to talk about that? You don't have to, you know.”

 

Sherlock looked down at their hands...and then back on John's face, “I know that you have the false assumption that I'm a virgin....or at least was until I was raped by Sherrinford. I might have been a 'late bloomer', but I have been in sexual relationships before......”

 

John couldn't help but ask, “Irene?”

 

Now Sherlock actually laughed, “Oh god, no. Not Irene. I was fascinated by her, by her intelligence. But she was in no way someone, who could could be trusted. I saved her as she was going to be beheaded in a small village near Karachi, but as soon as the other men in the house were dead and I thought that she and I could drive away in my car, she pointed a gun at me...ordered me to undress and she left the house dressed as a native man in my clothes and in my car. I had to pick clothes from the dead men and use the female clothes, Irene had left, to disguise myself as a native woman...a rather tall one, and walk on my bare feet the whole night to get back to Karachi and the western agents, I had been working for on another case. So no...I'm glad she survived, but I have no romantic interests in her. No way!”

 

John couldn't help laugh a bit by imagining Sherlock dressed as a native woman and walking his way back to Karachi, because Irene had fooled him.

And Sherlock smiled too.

 

“Do you want to talk about the first time, or should we shower and look at your bandages, before we continue talking?”, wanted John to know and continued, “I had something to confess too.”

 

“Shower, please. “, said Sherlock, “Or maybe we should finish our shaving? The foam is itching.”

________________________

In the bathroom Sherlock finished his shaving and John looked at him and said, “Would you mind helping me getting rid of my moustache? Mary sort of liked it...and that should be reason enough to get rid of it!”

Sherlock wisely kept his mouth shot about the fact that Mary hadn't liked the moustache either and helped John shaving it off.

As John's face again was clean shaven, Sherlock smiled and remembered what he had said almost two years ago, and said it again, “It looks better now. I prefer my doctors clean shaven.”

 

But this time John smirked and asked, “All over?”

 

Sherlock just stopped his preparations for kissing John and asked, “What?”

 

John first finished Sherlock's intention of kissing and kissed Sherlock first and after that, he smiled as he continued his explanation, as he cleaned the razor and the washbasin, “In Afghanistan I got used to shave my groin-area. Those blasted 'mites', sand-fly like fucking insects, would crawl up your legs, attach themselves to your pubic hair, mate, attach the eggs on the hair and crawl down again. And there in the humidity and warmth the eggs would hatch and the larvae dig into your skin. Not deep. Almost like scabies-mites but non the less drive you crazy with the itching. I've treated so many soldiers, who had scratched themselves bloody and infected because of those blasted mites. And the cure was to shave....not the legs, just the groin area. And after that I just got used to it and continued doing it.”

 

Sherlock had been standing with his mouth open...and had then closed with an audible click. When would John ever stop to surprise him? And he had most certainly not known about that habit of John's the last time.

 

Sherlock kissed John again and John could feel Sherlock's interest....somewhat above his own hip. A persistent and growing interest and his own cock filled as well and they both groaned as their kisses got more and more heated.

 

And then Sherlock just stopped, let go of John and slumped down on the loo, “Oh God John...we can't....I can't!” And covered his face with his hands.

 


	13. Panic and reassurance

John stepped closer to Sherlock and held him, murmuring into his hair, “I understand. We'll work it out. It is because of the rape, isn't it? I don't care....that is...of course I care...about you. But it hasn't changed how I look at you. I still think you are the most fascinating, amazing and brilliant man, I've ever met...”

 

“It's not the rape,or rather it is...in a way.” , tried Sherlock to explain and forced himself to calm down. “It is just that.....”, He took another deep breath and continued while he looked at John, “The first time, I was raped. In Florida....”

 

John looked at him in horror, “You were raped more than once?”

 

Sherlock looked around in the bathroom and said, still with a lot of worry in his eyes, “I think we've made a habit out of entering into a conversation, sitting on this loo and never ending up in the shower. But I can tell you more about Florida later. Right now my concern now is 'Did Sherrinford contaminate me in Serbia'?”

 

“With what?”

 

“John...he didn't use a condom as he raped me!”

 

“You...you are afraid of....?”

 

“HIV, yes...it would be the ultimate revenge, wouldn't it? And I know that kissing would not spread the disease, but....”

 

And now panic was to be heard in Sherlock's voice, “But what if....what if I have contaminated you? I would never forgive myself. If the kissing has transferred enough virus and.......”

 

John looked at Sherlock and realised that there could not be any showering, before Sherlock had calmed down. But John just knew the answer to that.

 

“Come...into your bedroom. We'll sit down on the bed, and you are right. The loo isn't comfortable enough for conversation. Calm down, Sherlock. Trust me....there is no reason to worry. And I'm going to tell you why. You just have to get your big brain out of panic-mode and listen to me.”

 

John had said it with so much confidence in his voice and so much 'now-you-listen -to-me' in his body language that Sherlock just obeyed and followed John into his...no _their_ bed.

 

And Sherlock just murmured, “Not mine. Ours!” before he allowed John to guide him to lie down.

 

John laid down beside Sherlock and hugged him for a few seconds, feeling how Sherlock still trembled a bit. John lifted his head so much away from Sherlock, that he could look him into the eyes.

 

“Now you listen to me: you are not contaminated!”, John said with a confident tone in his voice.

 

Sherlock had put himself enough together to be able to answer, “There is no way, even how much I could wish for you to be right, that you could possible know that!”

 

John smiled and lifted his hand and caressed Sherlock's face, “But I can! Listen to me: when did you time-travel? When did you sort of 'enter' your previously version? And enter this time...this 'now'?”

 

Sherlock frowned, but answered, “Yesterday morning. Just outside Mycroft's office.”

 

John smiled, “And before that, there was no time-travel. Before that, no other versions of happenings, actions, doings took place. Sherrinford raped you....and the doctors in Germany tested you...”

 

Sherlock didn't understand and said, “Yes? But the results would not be ready within the next several months.”

 

“You know the results, Sherlock. Don't you? Several years ahead actually. In the other reality, you have already had the results told!”

 

And finally Sherlock saw it, “Oh...yes of course. There isn't another version of Sherrinford's doings. I wasn't contaminated before...and I'm not now.”

 

He smiled at John. A big genuine smile, “You are pretty damned smart. Do you know that, John Watson? Pretty damned smart.”

 

“So are you. Much smarter than me most of the times. You've just been through so much......so the big brain of yours just panicked.”

 

Sherlock smiled his fond smile again and caressed John's face, “My conductor of light...”

 

And then they began kissing again, but stopped before it got too heated. They really needed that shower now.

__________________________

After the shower, John tended to Sherlock's wounds again. They had been covered with a watertight bandage during the shower and both John and Sherlock had 'behaved' during the shower and had not started kissing again or doing something more heated, while they were both naked behind the shower-curtain together.

John had secretly admired Sherlock's slim but very toned body, with long lean muscles. Lean but muscular as if Sherlock had been a dancer or an acrobat. Sherlock had even more muscle-mass now, than when he had almost lost his sheet at Buckingham Palace. And Sherlock had secretly admired John's shorter and sturdier body type. And even if it had been years since John had exercised hard as a soldier, he had still that toned and muscular body, even if he had gone just a little bit softer around the middle.

 

John had been very professional and Sherlock had just enjoyed been taken care of, thinking a bit of how it had been the last time, as he had to avoid showering because no one could help him with the watertight bandage.

 

Now John was sitting on the couch in the living room and Sherlock was lying with his head in John's lap. There would be time for snogging and maybe 'more' later. Right now was time for more talking. It didn't stop John from caressing Sherlock hair and scalp and Sherlock almost purred and leaned into the touch.

 

John had wanted to tell something first and Sherlock had accepted to wait a bit with his stories. And after John had made sure that Sherlock's back didn't hurt, he began to talk:

“You mentioned that it had surprised you, that we had a soul. It is no surprise to me. I knew we had one. It is not my upbringing as a Catholic that has convinced me. And by the way: what the files say about me: two Scottish catholic parents. They were cousins three times removed and they ran away from home as teenagers, because the two wings of their family had been close to enemies for eternities. Oh it sounds so much like 'Romeo and Juliet'...I know. I was orphaned at the age of 15. Harriet was 17 at that time and we were brought up...sort of....by my father's sister. I left for Sandhurst at the age of 16, and left again when I was 18 and returned later. But that is a story for another day, Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock just nodded but kept his eyes on John and they both smiled.

 

John took a deep breath before he continued, “As I was shot and was lying in the dessert-sand, bleeding out, I reached for the God from my childhood, even if I had seen so much evilness and despair and destruction, that I had lost my faith in a God. I pleaded, “Please God...let me live!” and somehow there must have been a deity. Because I lived against all odds....”

 

Sherlock knew why John had defeated death, just as Sherlock had done it himself several times. It was because of the devil-genes, but as John had said: 'It was a story for another day' and Sherlock didn't say anything as John continued:

 

“I didn't leave my body there....but later on the operating table, as the patched me together before the flight out, I left my body. Saw how they fought to stop the bleeding. I was floating up under the roof of the tent and then I floated further on. Away from my body. I know the scientists think that they now know what happens in the moment of near-death. How the lack of oxygen makes your vision narrow down to a 'tunnel' and how the chemicals in your brain triggers a floating feeling and nice hallucinations. But that was not what I saw and felt. It can't be explained that way...and as you have said before: after having eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?”

 

Sherlock smiled, “I have said that?”

 

John smiled back and bend down so he could kiss Sherlock, “You know, you have, you berk!”

 

John continued after they had kissed a bit more, “I saw the 'tunnel' but it was more like a veil being removed and then I was in a landscape. I met my parents and we talked a bit and I forgave them. They had done their best, even if it hadn't been enough. It is not fair accusing people for being too weak, when they have fought with all their power, even if it is not enough. And then I met my mother's father. I've met him as a child, but there was no way that I could have imagined him as a young man. I had only seen him as an old man with white hair and a grey beard. But there he was, not more than 30 and being a flaming ginger. I have never seen a photo of him so how could I know? He said something to me....something I forgot until....until you jumped and I had to leave the flat, Sherlock.”

John stopped.

 

“Why did you leave? It was just as much your flat as mine.”, wanted Sherlock to know.

 

John looked out into the living room, “Because staying would have turned me totally bonkers, Sherlock. I kept seeing and hearing you. If I sad here on the couch, you would be playing the violin by the window.I could almost hear you. If I sat in my chair, you would be sitting in yours, with your hands in front of your mouth in your 'thinking-pose'. And when I came down from my bedroom, you would be sitting in the kitchen. I couldn't.....I just couldn't....” And John had tears in his eyes now.

 

Sherlock had turned around and was now kneeling on the couch, holding John's face in his hands and touching John's wet cheeks.

 

“Again my deepest apology for putting you through such agony. But it was......” Sherlock tried to say but was interrupted by John, “I know...I know. And I have said that you do not have to keep on apologizing. It is all right. It is fine. We are here now. Together. Alive. And it was worth every pain to be allowed to kiss you. To take care of you. To love you. Oh God Sherlock. I love you so much!”

 

“I love you too, John. You are my everything!”

 

And they kissed again. Not those hungry, heated and sexual kisses, but sweeter and softer ones and by some space-continuum-moving miracle, they managed to lie on the couch together, keeping on kissing and both slowly drifting into a slumber after rather sleepily having dragged the blanket over their bodies.

And it was like that, Mrs Hudson found them as she entered the flat almost one hour later.

 


	14. More stories from the past

After having eaten the lunch that Mrs-'not-your-house-keeper-dear'- Hudson had brought them, as they had napped on the couch, Sherlock and John agreed that some more talking was needed. They would have some time to use before the press conference later in the afternoon anyway.

 

John wanted to finish his story about discovering that he had a soul and Sherlock had found a way to tell about what had happened to him in the future-not-to-be. They were on the couch again, now with their heads popped on an armrest each and their legs, bent at their knees, tangled together in the middle. Like that they could look at each other.

John was the first to speak, “I saw the tunnel, mentioned by the people who had had those near-death-experiences, not only once, but three times. The last time because of the sepsis, that almost....or rather 'not almost' killed me. I had left my body and was hanging over it and had gone towards the light and again I was sort of asked, if I would continue towards the light or return to my body again. Something made me decide to come back. And all three times my Grandfather was there and told me to remember something important. But this memory was gone every time, when I came back to my senses again. And as I mentioned: when I had to leave this flat a month after you...you had jumped...”

 

And he caught Sherlock's eyes and just shook his head a bit. No need for Sherlock to keep apologizing for leaving and Sherlock understood and refrained from saying anything and John continued, “...I went to Harry. She had sobered up a bit after her breakdown after Clara and her broke up and they were slowly trying to give their relationship a chance again, but not living together. And there in Harry's flat I remembered what my Grandfather had said to me while I was....sort of dead... and I asked Harry for our family-bible. She had got that when we visited Grandfather when we were children. It had been a strange visit to our two Grandfathers, who were now the only remaining members of the family living in Scotland and actually in the same small village. Both our Grandmothers had died before Harry and I were born and the presence of two Grandchildren, the only two that they ever got, had brought those two old, grumpy and stubborn men, if not into a sort of friendly relationship, then at least to a point where they could sit in the pub together, without leaving demonstratively as the other one entered through the door. They were both rather annoyed at the fact, that their sharing the same surname would cause people to believe that they were brothers. But as I said: I asked Harry for the family bible, hoping that she still had it and there it was, hidden in the Bible's binding, the deed that showed that both Harry and I owned a small piece of land in Scotland. And how could I in any way have imagined that in my dying moment, if he hadn't been there for real? How could I have know about that piece of land?”

 

“I see...” was Sherlock's reply, “You are right. You couldn't. But you don't have to convince me. I know we have a soul...at least I know now. Where is that piece of land?”

 

“Between Edinburgh and Dundee. I haven't been there. But Harry has. There is a house and a cottage and the will had made sure that they were been taken care of by locals.”

 

“Oh”, said Sherlock again, “My family did have some land near Edinburgh too. But they were cousins several times removed from us, I think. They were the branch of the family that kept the original name “Home” or “Uamh”. When my mothers family......well 'fled' would have been the right word.... several hundreds of years ago to England, they changed the name to 'Holmes'. But Mycroft found out that by now we are the only direct descendants of the original Earl of Home. And I suppose it makes us 'Earls' as well as 'Squires'. Not that it means anything at all....but I do own a small piece of land in Scotland as well. I suppose Mycroft takes care of it...”

 

John smiled, “Then you are allowed to wear a kilt, I suppose?”

 

Sherlock frowned and wanted to know, “Do you want me to?”

 

“You do have nice legs!”

 

But before they could develop the thoughts of each other wearing kilts, the alarm on Sherlock's phone went off and reminded them of the press conference and they had to get ready.

John had laughed a bit as he had been given the carefully manufactured manuscript, but had smiled and said, after he had read it, “I don't suppose that people would be ready for the truth about parallel universes then.” ...and had made an effort to learn all the 'allowed' answers.

 


	15. Pressconference, some lies and back in Baker Street again

The press conference had been a success. Even if John, Sherlock and Mycroft had 'lied themselves both blue and black' as John afterwards would say about the whole affair . And to the journalists John had confirmed that he was back as Sherlock's colleague and friend, but no more than that was mentioned. Neither John nor Sherlock saw any reason to tell more right now.

It was confirmed that Sherlock had been wounded and needed a break from his work, but they refused to tell where and how bad it was, just said that it wasn't that bad, but he needed to recover.

And like that Sherlock was back in good reputation again, as it could be proved that 'Moriarty' had been behind it all, but now didn't present any danger anymore as his vast criminal network had been brought down by this very hero Sherlock Holmes in tight cooperation with 'governmental forces'.

But of course there were still problemes to be faced. The damage been done by Sherlock now being a more public figure in the media, couldn't be undone. He was no longer so much a 'private' detective....more a rather 'public' one.

And now the two men were back in the flat, brought there in one of Mycroft's cars. Mycroft had been strangely silent and almost polite towards Sherlock...and towards John, and John just wondered what had happened, but didn't ask. Sherlock could tell him , if he wanted to.

  
  


And now it was Sherlock's turn to continue his narrative.

Sherlock had tried to protest and say that that future would be irrelevant now, as it never would happen, but John had insisted.

“It has happened to you. And it sort of 'bleeds through' when you look at me and in something you say to me. I must have been such an arsehole towards you, and I would like to know what I did wrong, OK?”

 

And Sherlock had finally agreed.

And began to tell: “I'll jump two and a half year out in the future, to the day I met the Erinye. There would be some facts, that you'll have to accept as face-value and just accept without asking. I'll tell more about how things came to be like that later. OK?”

 

“OK. May I ask questions?, wanted John to know.

 

“Not too many, as I'm going to explain later.”, said Sherlock and then he began: “When I met the Erinye, things were falling apart. As in 'our civilization was falling apart'. A lot of people in London were contaminated by Culverton by a disease he had invented himself. A state of emergency had been declared. The army was preventing people from getting out of London...and getting in as well. Culverton could earn an indecent sum of money by distributing his cure, but he was not intelligent enough to figure out that his actions could cause our civilization to break down...and what good would his money be then?” (Sherlock saw no reason to tell John about the Third World War or the killing of Mycroft or his own suicide in Berlin as they would never happen now). 

“Now I have to tell you something, that you'll just have to accept, John.........you were married and had a child...And both you, Mary and Minna had been contaminated. The Erinye offered me that I could save you all if...”

 

And then Sherlock told about the deal he had made with the Erinye and then he waited and gave John time to adjust and as John wanted to say something, Sherlock just lifted his hand and said, “You promised!” And John kept his mouth shut, but with difficulties.

 

Sherlock continued, “Yesterday you had planned to propose to Mary and in the other time-line you did. I do not know exactly when, as we were not in contact....for a while....and the time I finally saw you, you had proposed and she had said yes.”

 

John wanted to ask why they hadn't been in contact, but he kept his moth shut around those questions and just said, “Continue, please...”. He had to admit to himself though that he couldn't understand why 'the other him' had reacted that way. Propose to Mary when Sherlock had returned! And Sherlock had been willing to sacrifice himself to save them all!

 

Sherlock didn't elaborate more about the time immediately after he had returned from Serbia, but jumped forward in time again, “As I mentioned. You were married to Mary and she gave birth to your little 'Minna' in February 2015...more than a year from now...actually under rather dramatic circumstances. There was a thunderstorm and Mary's labour started a bit before schedule. It turned out that it wasn't her first child and it progressed too fast. So....to put it short...I drove the car and despite my excellent skills as a driver, we didn't reach the hospital in time and you helped Mary delivering your little baby daughter in the back-seat of the car in a tunnel...”

 

“And she was all right?” wanted John to know.

 

“She was fine...and looked so much like you, John.”

 

There was silence for a few minutes and then John said, “I never imagined that I would...or could have a child. Are you certain, that she was mine?”

 

“Totally!”....and she _had_ been John's daughter. Sherlock had secretly taken a DNA-test...and had felt both happy, because John would be thrilled...... and devastated that Mary hadn't lied about that single thing, that could have brought John back to Sherlock.

 

“It is just....” John shook his head, “The sepsis that I had in the hospital after I was shot. The sepsis that located itself in my right femur and caused me to limp...so it was not totally 'psychosomatic' even after the sepsis had been cured. Such a sepsis makes a man sterile rather often. The testicular tissue is damaged because of the fever and I was told that I was almost sterile...”

 

“Well, it only takes one living sperm cell to make a woman pregnant, you know...”, said Sherlock and John smiled and said, “I'm somehow glad that I know now, that I could become a father...” but he hurried to continue, as he saw the flicker of worry on Sherlock's face, “But I'm even more happy now, that I'm not going to be. I would not be a good father, Sherlock. Too many bad issues from my own childhood. So this is fine....more than I could hope for. Just you and me...”

 

And then they kissed again.

 

Sherlock continued to tell more about the Erinye's offer and this time he told John about the angles and the devils and the genes in the Human population. He told about the people that were being removed and then he paused, before he said: “I didn't tell you the whole truth yesterday, John. But Mary had too many of those genes in her and she was transferred to that other planet together with a lot of other people.”

 

John looked a bit angry: “Why the bloody hell didn't you tell me?”

 

“Because it would have been too complicated.” said Sherlock defensively, paused and looked at John, who took time to think a bit before he answered, “Hm...maybe you are right...”

  
  


And Sherlock told about Moriarty being a full-blooded 'devil' and that was the reason why he couldn't die, as he had shot himself. Sherlock told John about his own genes, and Mycroft's and John's. And how the Erinye had allowed Mycroft to stay (Sherlock saw no reason to elaborate what Mycroft had done or had avoided to do regarding Sherlock's imprisonment in Serbia), but John understood that something had happened between Mycroft and Sherlock.

 

John understood better how he himself had been able to survive the bullet and the sepsis and how Sherlock had been able to survive his two years away and the events in Serbia too. And then John asked Sherlock to continue his story.

 

And Sherlock told how John had first beaten the shit out of him in the restaurant and in the two other places and how John had left in a cab, still fuming with anger after having given Sherlock a broken nose. Sherlock told how Mary had promised to talk to John and how he, Sherlock, had refused to look too deep into Mary, as she apparently had kept John happy and safe, while Sherlock had been away.

Sherlock told John how he had suddenly understood how betrayed John must have felt and the memory of that other 'yesterday' made Sherlock cry a bit in sadness and embarrassment now, even if that was never going to happen in this version of time.

 

And John hugged Sherlock as he sobbed into John's shoulder, “I fucked everything up, John. I deserved every punch you gave me and I wanted so much for you to be happy. I didn't want to 'read' too much about Mary. And like that I fucked it even more up, because I didn't want to know!”

 

John kissed Sherlock and tried to calm him down, “Hush...I must have fucked things up really bad too. Marrying Mary...when I could have had us.”

 

Sherlock shook his head, “I haven't even told you everything yet. Believe me...I even managed to fuck everything up even worse after that.....”

 

John rearranged himself and Sherlock on the couch, not caring about it was getting late and it had been a long day. John was leaning against the armrest and a few pillows and Sherlock was between his legs, resting against his chest and John's arms were around Sherlock chest. John had made a warm comforting cocoon around Sherlock and whispered into Sherlock's hair, “No you didn't. Everything you did made the Erinye decide to give you another chance, despite your number of devil-genes. A second chance that brought us here...now....to this moment. Despite everything that happened in that other version of time. So...Sherlock...Love. You didn't fuck everything up. Just enough to bring us here...and nothing could be better. Even if I still would like to hear more about the 'other' John, because I cant recognize myself. How could I marry ' Mary', when you had returned? It doesn't make sense.”

 

Sherlock took a deep breath to calm himself and continued to talk. About how he had offered Molly a chance to solve crimes together with Sherlock and how she had realised that it really was not what she wanted.

“She had always been rather cold towards me”, said John, “Do you think she was jealous?”

 

Sherlock nodded, “I wanted to show her, that her fascination with me had to end. I wanted us to be friends and nothing more........I am gay, even if the Kinsey-scale isn't an absolute, and I can't look at her like that. As a friend, yes...but never as a lover. And still now, knowing what happened between now and out into the other future....I'm still not sure if I can trust her 100%.”

 

John shook his head, “Yeah...I can see what you mean. She is too sweet to be totally real, isn't she?”

 

“Mary was so sweet, too. Brilliant and charming.”

 

“Yeah...and she wasn't real. Just a glossy picture...and I fell for it. I'm so sorry, Sherlock.”

 

“It's fine. Or rather it isn't. Are you sure it is wise to continue to hear about all my mistakes?”

 

“They were my mistakes too, Sherlock...and please. I want to understand....”

  
  


And Sherlock continued. How John had been put in a bonfire and Mary and Sherlock had rescued him in the last minute. Or rather...Sherlock had done something as Mary just had been standing there...shouting.

“I'm not sure now that it was Magnussen, who had put you in the fire. It could have been Mary too. To gauge my feelings towards you, John.”

 

“Jesus.....Did you get burned?”

 

“And you are not even asking about yourself? Yes...I got burned. But only blisters. And Mary didn't get near the fire.”

 

“No surprise considering what I know now. But how did I not notice then?”

 

“You were too drugged..”, explained Sherlock.

 

And Sherlock told how they had found the bomb in the tube-carriage on the abandoned underground station and how Sherlock had discovered the off-switch and used that knowledge to make John forgive him......after having ordered John to run to safety because of the bomb might explode after all.

  
  


And then Sherlock confessed that he had laughed. Not to mock John as Future-John had believed, but out of relief and yet.....it could have been a booby-trap. But it wasn't.

“And you had forgiven me...and we became ….sort of friends again and I decided that it would have to do. It would be all I could ask for.”

 

John gave Sherlock a hug and kissed his curls, “And then?..”

 

“Then I did throw a party to celebrate that you and Mary were engaged.....”

 

John gave Sherlock another hug and said again, “I'm sorry...”

 

Sherlock turned around and smiled at John, “You don't have to be. It is never going to happen now.”

 

“No, but it DID happen and I DID that to you and it is still in your head and in your memories.”

 

Sherlock turned around and tucked himself deeper into Johns embrace, “But it is never going to happen now. So it is fine. I can delete it, when I've told you......and lying here in your arms, makes it easier to tell. It is as if it happened to another 'Sherlock'.....”

  
  


 


	16. Ending up in bed together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit longer chapter this time...and sex. A bit rough, but that is what Sherlock wanted.

That evening John and Sherlock continued to talk, after having had take-away and having slipped into their pyjamas, T-shirts and dressing gowns in order to be more comfortable. And Sherlock told about how John had asked Sherlock to be 'best man' and how Sherlock had been so happy, that John thought him to be his best friend, that he hadn't contemplated about the consequences a marriage would have, because John was often at Baker Street and they worked together on cases, just like before.

“And I had to be content with that...and not ask for more. You were not gay and I had to hide my feelings.”, explained Sherlock. John gave him a hug.

 

Sherlock continued to tell, that it had turned out that they had had a lot of time to plan the wedding, since the original date of the 18 th of May had to be postponed because the place, where the wedding was going to be celebrated, had caught fire and had to be restored and the wedding postponed to August. But he didn't tell John that he had buried himself so deep in the planning of the wedding in order to stop thinking about John and he didn't tell about what a nightmare it had been to be in the flat with all the plans and pictures and cardboard-models of the room, where they would celebrate....that John was lost forever. It was never going to be now and there were no reason to make it worse for John...right now.

 

Sherlock told more about the planning of the wedding, how those three of them, John, Mary and Sherlock had planned it together. How they had found out that there would only be a small handful of guests and that they would have to hire 'professional guests' to fill the room.

“And Harry?”, wanted John to know.

Sherlock shook his head, “She blatantly refused and Clara wouldn't come either...nor would Mycroft. All three of them mentioned something about a huge mistake, but you didn't catch it, John.”

John shook his head, “I must have been the biggest and blindest idiot in the world!” and he gave Sherlock another tight hug.

 

Sherlock told about one of their cases, that they had worked on as they both had had enough of wedding-planning. About the case with Bainbridge, the guardsman, about his stalker and how John had saved Bainbridge's life.

 

“You were so impressive, when you told that arsehole of a major, who wouldn't let you look at the apparently dead man and accused both of us of killing him, how skilled you were. I can still remember how you said it, “ _Major, please. I’m former captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Three years in Afghanistan, a veteran of Kandahar, Helmand, and Bart’s bloody Hospital. Let me examine this body!_ ”...and then it turned out that Bainbridge wasn't dead at all and he was brought to the hospital and survived.”

“How had he been wounded?”

“I'm not going to tell you, not yet. Because it is a part of a later story. OK?”

“OK.”

 

Sherlock told how Major Sholto had accepted the invitation and had turned up, “And when I saw you two together, I did realize something, John..”

“What?”

“That it wasn't that you didn't like _men_. It was that you didn't like _me_ like that. That you still loved and had loved another man.....that wasn't me. And why should you? I wasn't worth loving. My previous history had taught me that.....”

 

John hugged Sherlock again, “Well, thank God it wasn't a correct deduction from Sherlock Holmes. But it took a jump and a departure, before I realized the depth of my feelings for you. And it never got any longer than a mutual....fondness...between James and me. After all he was my superior and a relationship could have got us both thrown out of the army.”

 

And then he kissed Sherlock and they were occupied with that for a while. The kisses grew more and more heated and they began to moan into each other's mouths and touch each other all over.....and as John almost growled, “Bed...now! The rest can wait!”, Sherlock was more than happy to obey.

______________________________

In the bedroom Sherlock stumbled, walking backwards and landed, with John on top of him, on his back on the bed. The pain made him grunt and John stopped kissing him immediately and said worried, “Oh God, Sherlock. I'm so sorry! Your back...I'm...”

 

But Sherlock had just kept caressing John's delicious arse through the thin fabric of his pyjama and almost growled, “I don't care! What is a bit of pain? You are here...and I'm not made of glass!”

 

“But your were tortured...and raped...” and John turned his body, so his weight wasn't on Sherlock any more.

 

Sherlock stopped and looked at John, “It was a severe beating, yes, but you, as a doctor, would know, even by looking at my wounds, that they could have done so much worse and it was only my body, that was raped. I wasn't even present in my mind. And I've waited so long for this...us....us together. Please John. My back is OK. I have had the best doctor in the world to look at it. The experimental bandage on my broken ribs makes them fixated and almost painless.....and it is not half as bad as.......”

 

And then Sherlock stopped and John looked at him and continued, “....As the last time you lived through these weeks and months, because the other time time some arsehole tackled you to the ground three times, opened your wounds and had broken your nose...”

 

“Exactly my point, John...” and Sherlock grappled John face and kissed him hard and then he guided John's hand towards his erection, tenting his pyjamas.“And I do need some help with this persisting problem of mine! As you can see, I'm not bothered because of the pain.”

 

John kissed him hard and smirked, “Or maybe you are a bit of a masochist.”

 

Sherlock stopped and looked John into his eyes, “What if I am?”

 

John smiled, “I had a suspicion, but I thought it first to be the drugs.”

 

Sherlock frowned, “When?”

 

“When Irene drugged you. You had an erection. And she had used the riding crop on you. I saw the welts.” John paused as he saw the confusion on Sherlock's face, “I was the one who got you into the cab and put you to bed, Sherlock.”

 

“Oh.....and you do not mind that I like it rough?”

 

“Not at all.”, said John, now looking at Sherlock with a darkness in his eyes, “I would be more than happy to satisfy, within reasonable borders, your needs in that department.”

 

And with those words John pushed Sherlock's T-shirt up and closed his mouth around Sherlock's left nipple, sucked hard and pinched the other.

 

“Oh God...yes!”, Sherlock moaned and arched his back and that movement made him grunt a bit.

 

“Too much?”, asked John a bit worried.

 

“Not enough...more!” Sherlock ordered and John murmured something about 'topping from the bottom'.

 

Only a few seconds later they were both naked and took their time admiring each others bodies for a few seconds, before they continued.

 

John told Sherlock to lie still on his back and not move too much. After all he was still wounded and would it be all right if John did most of the work?

 

And Sherlock allowed John to take the lead and kiss Sherlock almost all over. Concentrating rather much on Sherlock's throat, where Sherlock found out that he had a few extra sensitive areas, where John's mouth could make him moan and then John moved to Sherlock's nipples. Sherlock had known that they were sensitive, but he had never experienced so much pleasure coming from that tissue ever before. So either Sherlock had developed a new kink or John was very skilled...or both.

 

And when John's mouth closed around the head of Sherlock's cock, Sherlock couldn't help bucking, even if he tried to stay still. Sherlock would have preferred to have his arms over his head and holding tight to the headboard of the bed. But his shoulders were still affected by hanging tethered to the wall by iron manacles several hours every day, so he just kept his arms down and grappled at the sheet with white knuckles.

 

As John paused and looked at Sherlock and asked, “Lube?”, Sherlock just nodded and said, “First top drawer.....” before he lost his voice to several moans, as John did something extremely pleasant to Sherlock's cock. Something with his tongue and ….Oh God...it felt good....John's teeth....careful light nibbles and that felt incredible too. Sherlock moaned again.

 

John looked at the bottle with lubricant. It was new. He smiled, before he poured a generous amount on his fingers. Of course Mycroft had anticipated that too, that they would end up in bed together.

 

“There are condoms too, “ panted Sherlock.

 

“I'm not going to fuck a man, who just recently was raped!”, said John sternly.

 

“Just do it! With condom or without. I want you to be the one who would 'overwrite' what happened.” And then Sherlock lifted himself up on his elbows and caught John's eyes. His own eyes were almost black and there was a darkness in them too, as he said in his deep voice, John was sure one day would be able to make John come on the spot.

“John. I want you to fuck me. Hard. To overwrite what my brother did to me to ruin me. I want you inside me....to fill me up with your gorgeous cock. To make me grunt and scream of pleasure. I want your seamen to fill me up and I want to be fucked so hard, that I see stars!”

 

But as John paused to put a condom on his cock, Sherlock stopped him.

 

“Didn't we just establish that I was clean? And you are too, aren't you?”

 

“Sherlock....I'm tested every month because I'm a doctor and I've always used condoms when I was together with a partner, even with Mary....so that is why it is a bit strange that she got pregnant....”

 

“And I'm clean.....in both meanings of the word. Please John. I want to feel you!”

 

And John did let go of all caution and prepared Sherlock carefully. First one finger and then two, scissoring them carefully to make sure Sherlock was stretched enough, before adding a third.....and all the time anchoring Sherlock with a firm hand on his stomach and occasionally just with a light stroke on Sherlock's cock.

 

Oh God.....John had never seen a more erotic picture than the one Sherlock offered now. All that creamy white skin, all those slender and yet muscular limbs and his beautiful face with his eyes closed, totally engulfed in his bodily feelings. And John could easy imagine Sherlock in restraints...soft ones and someone Sherlock could get out of, if he really wanted, because there was no way John would risk to trigger bad memories about real torture. And that was what it had been in Serbia, no matter how much Sherlock tried to downplay it.

 

“You are beautiful, Sherlock....so beautiful and soon so ready for me! Your hungry hole waiting to be filled with my throbbing cock!”

 

And that dirty talk made Sherlock even more aroused.

 

John made sure that Sherlock would be all right, not lying on his back and not standing on all fours, even if it was something John could easily picture as well: an obedient and willing Sherlock on all fours and waiting to be fucked; but both of them lying on their sides, so as little as possible pressure would be on Sherlock's back.

 

With a firm grip around Sherlock's body with one arm and his fingers on that hand close to Sherlock's right nipple and the other hand used to position his cock's head just outside Sherlock's arsehole, John whispered, “Are you ready, Love?”

 

And Sherlock almost shivered, “I've never been more ready in my whole life!”

 

“And you are sure, that you have no internal damage?”, wanted John to now and Sherlock began to chuckle and said, “I do not think it could be called 'bed-talk' to insist on seeing my medical journal before we fuck!”

 

And then Sherlock moved his pelvis and pushed himself slowly all the way down on John's cock. And both men gasped: John because he had forgotten how good it was fucking a man. John's cock was above average, both in girth and in length and he had got used to be careful, being with women and the feeling of Sherlock's body accepting him...fully... made John nearly come on the spot.

 

And Sherlock gasped, because even if John had prepared Sherlock carefully, John was so much bigger than any other man, who had fucked Sherlock in the past, had been.

“You are....big..”, panted Sherlock, “I'm so...full. Fuck!”

 

“My pleasure!”, said John with a smirk and began to move...slowly and aiming for Sherlock's prostate.

 

“Oh, god...yes! Fuck me...harder, John!”, ordered Sherlock and John pinched Sherlock nipple and bit down on Sherlock's neck, “Quite a demanding bottom, you are!”

 

“Do you mind?”, wanted Sherlock to know.

 

And then John felt the darkness well up inside him. The darkness he always tried to fight. The darkness that Sherlock had given him the explanation for, namely the devil-genes, but this time John didn't fight those thoughts.

 

“Yes...I do mind. You. Are. Mine! And. You. Do. As. I. Say...when. I. Say. It. Mine!” And John did move his hips it short powerful trusts with every word, causing Sherlock to moan. Especially because John used his anatomical knowledge to hit Sherlock's prostate with every trust. John had gripped Sherlock's hips so hard, that there surely would be bruises afterwards.

 

“Please, John. I'm so close...please!”, Sherlock begged, as John continued with those powerful trusts, enjoying that Sherlock's body could take his whole length and still was so tight around John's cock, that he had to concentrate not to come right there and then.

 

And then John did bite into Sherlock's shoulder. But had common sense enough to make sure that it was an unharmed place and that he didn't bite too hard. “You are mine and do as I say! Is that understood!”

 

And Sherlock shuddered and moaned, “Yes. Sir! Captain! Sir!”

 

And then John pinched Sherlock's nipples hard and almost growled, “Come for me!”

 

And Sherlock bucked and white spurts of semen continued ...and continued... to squirt out of his cock. Sherlock had come untouched. And as his 'internal walls' squished in convulsions around John's cock, he came too, so hard that he saw stars...

___________________________

Afterwards the two men lay side by side. John on his back and Sherlock had almost draped himself over John like a Sherlock-shaped blanket. Both enjoying the after-bliss of their orgasms. Feeling all the chemicals running through their bodies and brain.

 

John used his free arm to caress Sherlock's face and hair. Savouring the feeling of Sherlock's soft curls, that felt like silk.

 

When John came more to his senses, he did recall in his head, what he had said and done to Sherlock and he felt a pang of guilt. What a pervert he was, treating a newly tortured man like that and he began to cry.....silently...but Sherlock noticed nevertheless.

 

“What is wrong, John?”

 

John turned so he could look into Sherlock's face, “Love...I'm too dangerous for you. The way I treated you. Loosing myself to the darkness inside me. I did hurt you!”

 

Sherlock smiled and caressed John's face, and moved so he could kiss John's tears away, “Don't worry, John. I knew about that darkness in you. You have shown it before...and I'm not afraid of it. You didn't hurt me more than I wanted you to hurt me and not more than I could handle. I do not mind that you are dominant in bed. It turns me on!”

And then he almost purred, “....Captain!”

 

And to John's surprise his cock twisted a bit and told John that it was still interested in investigating that sort of sexuality further.

 

Sherlock saw it too and smirked, before he said, “But we'll have to discuss borders and limitations....”

 

John smiled back, suddenly overwhelmed with sleepiness, “Can it wait to tomorrow, together with the rest of our stories? I'm knackered!”

 

Sherlock smiled again and got out of the bed, “I'll fetch a damp flannel and clean us up a bit.”

 

But John hardly answered...almost asleep already and as Sherlock returned with the flannel. John was sound asleep. Sherlock cleaned them up a bit and moved so he was the big spoon this time and sleeping John just took Sherlock's arms and dragged Sherlock even closer to his own body, as he hummed.

 

“Good-night...my captain!” murmured Sherlock before he fell asleep too, not minding the rest of the stickiness on the sheets and on their bodies.

 


	17. More secrets from Sherlock's youth

John was the first to wake up. It was still dark outside and it must have been early, since the sounds of London hadn't reached the level of 'day-sounds' yet....only a few cars and a distant siren. The lamppost outside gave enough light for John to see the outline of Sherlock's face on the pillow beside him. Sherlock looked like an angel, and that thought made John chuckle, because both Sherlock and John were quite the opposite.....with their 'devil-genes'.

John's chuckle had awoken Sherlock and as John looked at Sherlock again, he meet Sherlock's ever colour-changing eyes.

John reached out and turned on the bed lamp.

 

“Morning, Love.”, he said and kissed Sherlock, “Sorry for the morning breath...but you are too delicious not to be kissed.”

 

“I don't mind, John. To me it is still a miracle to have you here. “ Sherlock said with a smile and then he frowned a bit, “What time is it?”

 

John looked at the alarm-clock, “Early...around 6.”

 

“Too early to get up? I'm hungry and we need a bath and some clean bed-lining. And you'll have to look at my back.”

 

“No..it is fine. I haven't slept that well for years..”

 

Sherlock smiled a bit sadly, “Well...Yes....sorry for causing that.”

 

John kissed him again, “You don't have to continue to apologize for saving my life, you know. It is in our past. We have the rest of our lives in front of us....together. Don't feel sorry for something you did to protect me. Ever! But erh.......Last night....what I said about owing you and....erh.....you obeying me. I didn't really mean that and ...erh....um.”

 

Sherlock just smiled. “Having second thoughts? John, listen very carefully. I'm not afraid and you wouldn't hurt me more than I ask for. No....saying it that way could be misunderstood. You don't hurt me more than I would demand of you. Do you know anything about sub/dom relationships? About masochism?”

 

“I do, and that is why we need to talk...about that too. But either we go back to sleep again or we get up and start a new day.”, said John, still not totally sure if Sherlock understood what he meant.

 

Sherlock just smiled. Still in ave that life could be that good, and said, “I would like to lie here with you just a little while more...and then I need you to look at my back.”

 

John worried immediately, “Are you hurt...in pain?”

 

Sherlock shook his head, “No...nothing like that. But it starts itching....”

____________________________

After their shaving and showering and changing of Sherlock's bandages, the two men were in the kitchen eating breakfast. Sherlock had a meeting with Mycroft in the afternoon, where they would discuss the actions towards lord Moran to prevent him from blowing the Parliament to the sky on the 5th of November and to prevent Magnussen from kidnapping John and put him into the bonfire on the 4th of November. But the day today just being the 8th of October did leave them enough time to act.

They intended to make a trap for both men and by now Sherlock of course knew that Lord Moran had worked for Sherrinford and with Sherrinford gone....something that Lord Moran hadn't discovered yet.....Lord Moran would be so much easier to catch.

  
  


Magnussen would be a bit more difficult, for as Mycroft had mentioned, with Magnussen's knowledge of darker secrets about a lot of Western-European politicians and Russian politicians too, Mycroft and the MI6 could loose their grip on them with Magnussen gone. Sherlock's knowledge about the missing vaults under Appledore and his suspicion of the blackmail material not only being in Magnussen's head but somewhere else too, could be a help.

As Sherlock had put it, “We just have to find some material on Magnussen, that would make him silent and obedient. And make him give up controlling Mycroft and other high-ranked politicians, who actually do a good and decent job despite being deeply emerged in politics.”

  
  


John and Sherlock had time before Sherlock would have the meeting with Mycroft and they decided to lie on the couch again, talking. Sherlock was again leaned up against John and with John's arms securely encircling him, making him feeling safe and secure, Sherlock was prepared to tell about 'difficult' topics.

“You see, John. It was never sex that alarmed me, but 'feelings'. I'm not a virgin and I wasn't a virgin before I had to...to leave. Not a virgin when it comes to women and not a virgin when it comes to men. My libido is not stable though and it was often easier to suppress it and...I've been 'burned' in relationships earlier and decided that it wasn't worth it...”

 

“I've guessed that much...”, interrupted John and gave Sherlock a kiss on his hair and Sherlock smiled and wrapped John's arms tighter around his body.

 

“I was young when I went to Camford and I had learned to hide my intelligence. I didn't fit in totally, but tried to make an effort. I attended a fence-club and I won often...even the mastership one year. You see, John....you don't fight only with the épée.....but rather with your brain and using that and reading your opponents intents, makes it a bit easier to win...”

 

“I would like to see you fence one day...you must be good..”, said John, “I have always thought about it, since I saw the price, you won, in your bedroom.”

 

Sherlock smiled and continued, “We'll find an opportunity some day out in the future, where I can show you. I played violin too. In a trio. One of the teachers, Suzanne, played the cello, I played the violin and one of the elder students, George, played viola da gamba......”

 

Sherlock paused before he continued, “She was more than twice my age....and she seduced me. I was only 16. Long and gangly and thin and as horny as any normal 16 year old boy. At that age you would hump an old-fashioned radiator..”

 

“Yeah...I remember how it was.” smiled John.

 

“She was tall and thin, with short very dark brown hair and could almost pass for being a boy, even without her clothes on...at least on her upper body, and she taught me the pleasures of anal-play, both for her and on me. She would normally ride me, using both her orifices in turn and the first time where she tied me to the bed-posts and I couldn't do anything, my mind went blank and only made white noise... and I liked it......being liberated from any decisions. Of course it couldn't last. The elder student, George, had to leave and Sebastian joined out trio.”

 

John groaned, “Please tell me that it wasn't that idiot Sebastian, whom I have met!”

 

“No...another Sebastian. American and looking a bit like you John. Handsome. And I fell in love. Or I thought it to be love. But to put it short: he was actually abusive.....even if I liked the orgasms he gave me. At the same time he wouldn't allow me to be me and wanted me to be something different and of course that relationship couldn't last either. You see John, I'm a switch, and not totally only masochistic...and he couldn't accept that I sometimes didn't want sex...or just wanted 'vanilla'. We broke up...or rather he broke with me with the usual phrase, “It is not you, it is me'. And then he went back to the States again. I thought it to be my fault and I was devastated.”

 

Sherlock stopped talking and turned his head so he could look at John before he continued, “So now you know how I am, sexually-wise. When I'm working on cases, my sex-drive is almost gone...and I don't always need or want the submission and the pain. And at a few occasions I would prefer to be in charge. So....to put it short, I'm a freak.”

 

John smiled at Sherlock, kissed him and gave him a hug, “You are not. And don't use that word about yourself, please. What you tell me is no surprise for me, Sherlock. I thought you to be asexual when we first met and... well up till we met again and talked...now. Oh God...it is only a few days ago!.......And the rest is no surprise either. Most people work like that. Not being absolutely one thing or another.”

They smiled at each other again. Sherlock a bit in awe, that John accepted Sherlock's ….'queerness'...that easily.

_________________________

Sherlock continued talking about his time at the university. How he had met Victor Trevor. Trevor's dog had attacked him and how they had become friends and ended up sharing rooms at one of the colleges.

“Trevor was one of those very heterosexual men, who appeared rather feminine...and I thought our friendship was developing towards something more intimate.”, explained Sherlock, and continued, “The Christmas, when I was close to 19, the Christmas after all that with Sherrinford happened, I was invited to Victor Trevor's house. I thought it was because he wanted to...turn our friendship up a notch, but it wasn't. During the Christmas dinner, his parents, she was a diplomats wife and he was a diplomat, got too much to drink and began to.....'tease' me could have been the right word, and yet it wasn't...it was too much! Being diplomats they should have known to behave better. They teased me with my posh background, with that I played violin and that Victor was the one who helped me at Camford, when it in reality was me helping _him_. And almost everything else about me. And I tried to be polite, for Victor's sake, but finally I decided to impress them and deduced something about Victor's father...and his mother too. They got very angry...and I left the table and later that evening, I left their house, without saying properly goodbye. I just left a note and explained that I was urgently needed at home.

Later, after New Year, Victor confronted me in our rooms at the college and …...” Sherlock was moved and wrapped John's arms closer around him before he continued, “I confessed that I had tried to impress him and …one word took the other: he accused me of using him to get better grades, and I got angry and told him it was the other way round: that he only provided old results and never was ready to try something new and it was I, who provided him with the newest results and put the words together, so he could get better grades...and finally I admitted that I didn't care, because I loved him and didn't mind helping him.....”

Sherlock stopped and John understood that Sherlock needed to gather some courage. Finally Sherlock took a deep breath and continued, “The things Trevor said about me.. The look of utterly disgust on his face, as he called me the worst words in our language for homosexual men.......I couldn't......I just ran out in the January-cold and darkness. And when I returned Victor had locked the door and refused to let me in.”

 

Sherlock had turned his head and looked at John again, “That was the occasion where I used drugs to numb my mind for the first time. Sebastian had introduced me to the drugs: cocaine and smoke-heroin, and now I dug into the depths of the London underworld, where I had made contacts, working undercover for M15....and disappeared for 3 weeks. Mycroft found me in a crack-den....high as a kite and still clutching to the red scarf that Victor had given me for Christmas. As I ran from Camford, I had nicked Victor's winter-coat from the Hall and the money he always carelessly had lying in the pockets, had managed to get me through the first weeks. Then I had sold my watch and should have known, that even being only 27 and not yet in his final position in his 'minor position in the British Government', Mycroft had still access to a lot of fancy stuff and of course my watch was tracked. To put it short, Mycroft brought me to his flat and had people helping me getting 'clean' again. He never told our parents...and the next thing I heard about Victor, was that his father had lost his job as a diplomat, because my deductions had been correct: he was corrupt and the family went back to New Zealand.”

 

The two men rested for a while in silence and then John kissed Sherlock. Just a tender kiss, that showed how much he cared for and loved Sherlock and John said afterwards, “I'm sorry that your sexual experiences should be such utter trash, but I promise that I will do what ever I can to overwrite all the bad experiences......and I'm so sorry for having ripped open the wounds from that good-for-nothing-utter-homophobic-arsehole of Victor-fucking-Trevor with my oh so stupid and hurting words about not being gay!”

 

Sherlock smiled back, “We can't keep on saying 'we are sorry'. You've said that yourself. It is in the past...and we have the whole future in front of us. Except....that I have this meeting with Mycroft in less than an hour and I really think you should join us.”

_______________________________

The meeting with Mycroft, and other secret members from M15, was rather short, but efficient. John had been allowed into the meeting after Mycroft had made a few phone calls and 'restored' John's security level from the time, where he had worked for M16. And elaborate plans were made, involving both Sherlock and John. Not with them directly acting, but by use of their knowledge. Most of course Sherlock's, but John could contribute with something too, as the explosives had had connection to the army and unfortunately 'The fifth Northumberland Fusiliers', John's old company. He had know of some.....not so patriotic.....elements and could give away some names, that eventually lead to the boss of the affair and through him a connection to Sherrinford in Eastern Europe.

________________________

Back in Baker Street, and after having had dinner, that Mrs. Hudson had made for them, “Just this once, dears. I'm not your housekeeper.”, they were again on the couch and now it was John's turn to tell something from his past. But before he began revealing that, John said firmly, “We do have to discuss the sub/dom thing first Sherlock. Before we do anything else in our bedroom....unless of course it is just vanilla....”

 

Sherlock smirked and said, “Well...it is the taste that I like the most for know. But other flavours could be nice....sometimes.”

 

John smiled back, “You...berk!” And then he continued, “I was in a relationship....with a man. While I was having a pause from Sandhurst....a story for another day. I had got used to be in charge...being a lieutenant and he liked that. He was older than me, and a med-student too....and we had met at Barts, while I was still send there to be educated...from Sandhurst. And as I had a pause in my education, he had found me and asked me if...if I could help him in a delicate matter. I was confused in the beginning, as I hadn't understood what he meant, but it turned out that he....he had had some problems in his relationship. And he..”, John took a deep breath before he continued, “...he was a masochist, but it didn't mean that his partner should abuse him! And he was hurt and harmed and after having treated his wounds, that were places he didn't want to show at the local A&E, and after I had visited his 'partner' and told him what I intended to do to him, if he ever touched Charlie again...well to put it short, Charlie and I ended in a relationship and he told me, what I needed to know about being a 'dom'. That it means to take care of the sub's needs, and that made me feel better about dominating him.”

 

John looked at Sherlock, “That is why I know something about it. About sub-space and top-space. And I've tried both, Sherlock. I do prefer top-space....the place where everything is right, everything goes according to plans. It is the same 'space' you end up in being in charge of a lot of men, being a captain and you get everything done and return to the camp with no one harmed. You must feel it the same way, when a case 'clicks' and everything fits. It is sometimes as good a an orgasm, just that it lasts longer. I've seen you feeling it!”

 

Sherlock smiled, “Yeah...there is a word for it...and it is the same chemicals causing it, even if it is not as intense. It is called 'braingasm'....but you must know that word yourself.”

 

John laughed, “I know the feeling, but not the word. It is very fitting.”

 

And now it was Sherlock's turn to explain, why he sometimes needed pain and submission, “I need the pain to soothe my mind sometimes. I need the submission to shut down my overworking brain, when it just goes on and on and on and I can’t stop deducing, noticing. Sometimes I can’t even get a proper orgasm without some amount of pain....”

 

“If pinching your nipples is enough, then it is fine with me.”, smirked John.

 

Sherlock smiled back and continued, “When I've honed my mind to solve a case, to notice every little detail. To observe what others might not see, then there would normally be three scenarios when the case is solved: one...I would crash totally and sleep for 12-14 hours, and then I would be all right again.”

 

“That one I know.” , said John.

 

“Or two: I get.... 'bored' was the term used about me as I was a child. The right term would be 'depressed' I guess. I couldn't be in my own body. Clothing did hurt. My mind was making endless loops of 'you could have handled it better' and' you are such a stupid boy'...things like that and then I would plunge down into a deep pit of despair. Food tasted like sawdust and everything was dull and grey. A new case could bring me out of it or else I would just have to wait for it to disappear.”

 

“Yeah...I know that mood too. 'Sulking'.....but that would not be the right word for it either, since it would indicate that you did it on purpose. And I understand it better now....” said John.

 

Sherlock nodded and continued, “Last scenario: Do you remember an incident?.....Or several actually, where you had hidden my cigarettes and I had nothing else stashed.... I was like a machine running wild, running on its own motor oil. Feeling as if my head was going to explode!”

 

“I remember” said John and remembered how Sherlock had behaved like a blue-arsed fly in a bottle.

Sherlock was silent for a while and John waited patiently, knowing that this was very difficult for Sherlock, and then Sherlock took a deep breath and continued, “I used....drugs....while I was away to avoid these shut-downs. Benzedrine and Amphetamines......and they worked. But I'm never going to use that again, because I didn't like the after-effects. The drugs kept me alive though and the other methods, that I've found out could help me, weren't an option.....”

Sherlock paused again and looked at John, “The lines between those three scenarios can be a bit blurred and they can get mingled. And sometimes the 'cure' for my moods doesn't always work. I've discovered that meditation can help. **_IF_** I can make my mind cooperate. One thing does work....always.....and that is something that I find it very difficult to ask of you, John.”

 

Sherlock paused and looked at John, who looked back and said with determination in his voice, “I'll be prepared to do anything to help you, Sherlock. Anything!”

 

“Well..and please remember that I can't ask for it directly, even if I need it badly!”

 

John smiled, “I understand, Sherlock. If I had got onto my feet, while you were behaving like a blue-arsed-fly, had pressed my sock-clad foot against your crotch, that you actually displayed, and told you to kneel and open your mouth and had forced you to swallow my, at that time rather erect, cock...it would have been what you needed, Right?”

 

Sherlock smiled, “I knew you would understand.”

 

John smiled back, “And I suppose that we'll just have to find a way, where you can show me that that is what you need, without you driving me up the walls first. If I get to angry, it could be too dangerous.....and I have a terrible temper.”

 

Sherlock shook his head, “I trust you John. You would never allow yourself to harm me too much.”

 


	18. John's past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tells about his childhood and his youth. Sherlock learns why John has trust issues. And the evening ends...almost....in the bedroom again (but that will be in the next chapter)

Later that evening John told about his childhood and youth and as Sherlock had expected and known, it hadn't been an easy road to travel. But one thing are the facts that you can read about a man in dossiers, the other thing is the events behind the facts and John now told about those events.

 

The two men were in their favourite position on the couch, but this time, as John was the narrator, he was the one resting against Sherlock...and John began:

“My family came from Scotland as you know. And the feud between the two branches of our families was of Italian-Renaissance-proportions, worthy of a Shakespearian play-writer. And the origin was lost in the Highland mist. Something about sheep, would be my best guess.

My father and mother had met as he was a soldier and she was at a voluntary-job within the church and they did that without knowing that their love for each other would have been just as hopeless as the one Romeo felt for Juliet....and to make a long story short, they eloped to London and tried to build a life here. He was 21 and she was 18...and in the beginning they managed. They married, found a place to live, he found a job and they found friends. Even Catholic ones 'inside' the Church, because even if they had left Scotland, they didn't want to leave their faith. And then Harriet was born and two years later I came to. I can't recall any trouble while we were young children, except that my father would sometimes at parties drink a wee bit too much and not behave properly. He would start fights and all in all embarrass himself, but that was the only snake in Paradise. Until he lost his job. He found another but less paid and my mother had to find a job too. And the year I turned 13 my father lost that job too and to pile on on his feelings of betrayal, my mother kept hers and got promoted.....and that was when he started to drink in earnest. So not alone did my mother have to work, she had to do the household chores as well and at the same time listen to his yelling....and accept his abuse. And she began to drink too. They would sometimes fight, because he started getting violent....and I....”

 

“You stepped in and defended her and got beaten instead.”, said Sherlock, “Your medical journal showed a remarkable collection of injuries, and not every one could be explained by your partake in rugby....”, said Sherlock and gave John a hug, “Such a brave little boy you were...and nobody helped you......”

 

John turned his head and looked at Sherlock and smiled, “Harriet helped me and our neighbours.....so no, I wasn't totally alone in this fight. It could have been worse...and it could have been better too. My mother didn't drink that often, but things got too much for her sometimes..and he wouldn't be that violent if she was drinking together with him. Such a backward logic: if she got drunk too, she wouldn't be 'above' him. My father was OK, when he didn't drink. He supported my rugby and he made sure that both I and Harriet went to a decent school, because of connections he had from his soldier-days. But when he began to drink, he turned into 'Mr. Hyde' himself. And you couldn't count on him....and the worst thing was that mother 'lost herself' too. If things had been different, my mother might have left him, but all the bad things happened before she did, so....”

 

John took a deep breath and wrapped Sherlock's arms around him, “Things got worse and Harriet and I had to look after ourself. Mother lost her good job, because of the drinking problem....and she found a less paid part-time job. And their drinking escalated. And just after my 15 th birthday, Harriet and I took part in a trip that our church had arranged for the youth. My faith did mean a lot to me then....and it wasn't always easy to be a Catholic boy then...”

 

John's voice faltered, “And later...with everything that happened, with Harriet and me...I...I couldn't find back to my childhood's faith again. Just that...I still believe in God. Not just the Catholic version....” John paused again and looked at Sherlock and asked, “Does that make sense?”

 

“It makes perfect sense.....even more in the lights of what I have experienced too....”, was Sherlock's answer.

 

Sherlock paused and looked out into the living room without seeing anything. Lost in thought. Then he cleared his throat and said, “I think that humans make God too small. A being so huge and omnipotent that it can think the whole Universe into existence. That mind must be so huge that we can understand it. And now we have been told that it is a fact. There is a mind behind it all. Then why should such an omnipotent being care if two men should love each other? Or two women? No...it makes perfectly sense that you sort of 'left' your harsh and unforgiving Scotch-Catholic God and...found someone else. A milder version.....that could allow homosexual love. It makes sense.....”

 

John looked out in the room too and said, “And yet...in the moment where I almost died....no....I  _died,_ I turned to my childhood's God and prayed..."

 

“And someone heard you...”

 

“Yeah.....And I've prayed after that ...and you came back. It is just.....The 'John' you tell me about. I think he forgot to pray...and forgot to be thankful. I can still not get my head around that he/me/I abandoned you so totally and chose her over you. I do not understand...”

 

Sherlock just hugged John. And then John continued his story, “Our parents were supposed to fetch us after the trip later in the evening, but they never turned up and our priest drove us home....to a dark house. Their car wasn't in front of the house. And then the neighbours told us that they had tried to find us....”

 

John paused...even so many years after, the 'wounds' after the accident still did hurt. He swallowed before he continued, “They had taken the car to fetch us, even if they had been drinking the whole afternoon. I do not think they ever saw that lorry and they died on the spot....”

 

Sherlock gave John a hug and a gentle kiss. No...childhood and adolescence hadn't been easy for any of them.

 

John took another deep breath and continued, “My father's sister, Cicely, who had left Scotland some years after my father and with whom he had barely had contact, now contacted the authorities and they accepted her as our guardian. She opened her home for us, took care of all our needs, sort of, and paid for our school and clothing. The only thing she couldn't provide was love. She was a very strict woman, sort of obsessed with 'doing her duty' towards God and man. And she did. We got our own rooms, should take care of our own cooking. She would have people doing the laundry and cleaning, but she expected a 15 year old boy and a 17year old girl to be as responsible as grown ups. We managed....but not totally. Harriet found it more difficult than me to adapt and school wasn't there for long to keep her occupied and she met...friends...and found ways to hide that she hadn't been at home or she would sell things, that aunt had paid for, to buy booze. And drink together with her new palls. So......being a child of two alcoholic parents...and later to be met with conditional 'love'...” _I'll only take care of you if you behave according to my rules_ ”, it does give you trust issues. You work with two sets of realities: the one at home, where everything is uncertain: is the joke that would make your father laugh one day, the joke that the next day would send you rolling on the floor, because he would hit you? And then the reality outside where your standard answer to 'how is it at home?” from concerned teachers and other adults, would be “It's fine. I'm OK. It is all fine.””

 

Sherlock smiled a sad smile, “Yeah...I've heard that often! And used it myself!”  
  


John smiled back and said. “Old habits die slowly.”, and then he continued, “I applied for Sandhurst and because of my father's connections, I got in even if I was a tad too young. I wrote letters to aunt Cicely and Harriet and I didn't know how bad it was until I came home for holidays. When Harriet finally was revealed.....and that she had been living together with a girl, my aunt threw her out and refused to pay anything. Legally she was in her right to do so, Harriet had turned 18, but morally? We were family after all, and she acted as if Harriet wasn't. I couldn't get away from Sandhurst and help Harriet, I wasn't old enough to get a job and I was still being educated....”

 

John paused again and Sherlock just hugged him, not knowing how bad things behind the 'cold data' had been. And Sherlock understood that John didn't need him to say anything, just be there, so Sherlock just kept silent and waited for John to continue.

 

And John did that after a while, “I'm sorry, Sherlock. But it is still bad memories...”

 

“No need to excuse, John. I'm here to listen.”

 

John just smiled and kissed Sherlock, “Thank you. It is the first time where I've ever told anyone.”

 

“I know.....and I'm honoured, John. Please continue.....but in your own time.”

 

John steeled himself, “I can just as well continue. And you still have some stories to tell as well. Compared to mine I think yours are worse. So...”

 

Sherlock didn't quite agree with John...but now was not the time to 'compare bad memories', and he just kept silent.

 

“Of course I was still allowed into aunt's house and had access to her money...as long as I behaved. And I managed to buy things within her limits, saying they were for me and sell them again to help Harriet. It was incredible how hungry I was and how much I needed in my refrigerator....but then the summer was over and I had to return to Sandhurst. Harriet was on her own, but lived together with that other girl, Margaret, and managed to find a job. Never the less I was deeply worried. They didn't live in a good neighbourhood and they both drank too much. Of course one of my senior officers, James, who was my captain at that time, noticed that I worried and I told him how it was, after he had sort of kept on nagging me to tell him what worried me so.”

 

“James? James Sholto?”

 

“Yeah...exactly.”, said John, but nothing more was said and John continued, “He made sure that I was allowed a leave, when I turned 18. That was when I left Sandhurst to try to save my sister. And I know...she was over 18 and responsible for herself, but I couldn't just let her disappear and ...die.”

 

“So that was the reason for your one-year-break in your education at Sandhurst?”, wanted Sherlock to know.

 

“Yeah...and why I 'changed horses mid-stream' and never became a fully finished major in the medical corps, but chose the active-in-combat-possibility and became a real captain. And a doctor, but a civilian one, besides that. That was the reason why I was educated at Barts and why I could work as a GP, and as a trauma-surgeon. My education is a patchwork.....with no straight lines in it, making me have 3 not totally finished educations, only if you squint. And I managed to get Harriet back on track and then she met Clara, the best thing that could happen to her, and I returned to Sandhurst, finished my education as a captain and was sent to Afghanistan. I would have been a major...a real one with combat experience, in a few years, if I hadn't been shot....”

 

John paused again, “That is why I find it so difficult to forgive Harriet. I sacrificed so much for her...and she threw it away, when she left Clara and began to drink again.”

 

Sherlock hugged John, “She never asked you to sacrifice that much....just as I have never asked Mycroft to interfere, but believe me, she wouldn't be ungrateful....It is just so difficult to admit, that you have every reason to be thankful.....and you know that you have only yourself to blame for your misery.”

 

John looked at Sherlock, “And who is the one, who should be grateful one of you two? You?”

 

Sherlock shook his head, “It used to be me. But not any more. Mycroft owe me so much more now. So much...”

 

“Good!”, said John and tucked himself back in Sherlock's arms, “It suits me fine, if that posh git of your big brother finally realises that he owes you a lot. Selling you to Moriarty, letting you down like that. And don't think I didn't figure it out, finally. 'Everything for Queen and country' even if it meant to 'sell' his little brother to the enemy. And oh did it backfire...right back into his face! The plane of dead people....Irene.....Moriarty! Mycroft made huge mistakes and he did let you and me pay for it. So...if all this can teach that man to be a bit more humble and keep his too long posh nose out of our affairs, it suits me fine! “

 

Sherlock chuckled a bit and decided that he should probably avoid to tell John the whole truth about Mycroft, or Mycroft might not survive their next meeting.

_________________________________

They lay in silence a few minutes, both of them thinking, and then John said, “I've....I've never even told Ella that much.....” And then his voice faltered. Sherlock kissed his head and murmured, “I'm honoured that you trust me so much...and I'm sorry that I failed you like I did.....not letting you in on that whole Moriarty business....”

 

John turned so he could look Sherlock into his eyes, “Hey, Love. We said that we shouldn't keep on saying “I'm sorry”. I know why you decided to do as you did...and I can hardly blame you for saving my life...and you are probably right, that we might have died, if I had followed you abroad. So, it is in our past and we have to move on.....just. Just that you still have some stories to tell me. So...more tonight or...?”

 

Sherlock shook his head, “Not now. There is too much in my head right now. Too many thoughts whirling around: What we should do about Lord Moran ...and Magnussen. I'm tired, but I'm not even sure that I can sleep.”

 

John looked at Sherlock again and asked, “Is it now that you need my help?”

 

Sherlock understood immediately what John meant and shook his head, “No...it is not like that. But maybe it would be a good idea to show you, what I did before, to control my mind, when meditation failed. I might end up in such a state again...and not be able to tell you what I need. So better show you, while I'm able to.....and maybe sex could help me to sleep tonight.”

 

John's eyes got darker and he smiled a bit dangerously, “If that ' _showing what I did before_ ' involves you naked in our bed....well I'm amenable!”

 

“Good!” was Sherlock's answer and then they were both heading for the bathroom......and bedroom.

 


	19. What Sherlock needed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just sex....with a little bit of plot.

In the bedroom Sherlock headed for his wardrobe and removed the false bottom and showed John what was hidden there...and then he asked John to find some new batteries and fetch some glasses of water. Sherlock knew that he would need it later.

 

And as John went into the kitchen he found some things, that he would bring into the bedroom too. He had after all acted as a dom before and had some ideas about what he would like to do to Sherlock to distract Sherlock's mind.

 

Sherlock had shown him some whips and floggers, that had been hidden under the false bottom in the wardrobe and there was no way that John would allow them to come near Sherlock right now. First, because they were dry and needed oil or grease to become soft again. John did know how they worked and knew that they wouldn't really harm and only just give some redness and in worst case light welts. And second, because Sherlock had just endured torture only a few days ago, no matter what he insisted on calling it. John was amazed though, how fast Sherlock was healing, but every trace of wounds and even red scars would have to be gone, before John would even begin to consider thinking about contemplating about having some of the 'strings' of the floggers or whips to be touching Sherlock's body.

 

When John had finished collecting the items and finally had located the batteries, that Sherlock had asked John to find, John entered their bedroom and almost stopped in his tracks.

 

There Sherlock was.....totally naked and kneeling the deep kneeling on the bed with his behind on his heels, his hands on his thighs and his head slightly bowed.....just waiting. Breathing calmly....and as far as John could see, already on his way to sub-space. And he was so beautiful, that John almost lost his breath.

How could 'the other John'...the one from the future-never-to-come have chosen anyone over Sherlock? John shook his head. He would never learn why, but it wouldn't keep him from wondering.

 

Beside Sherlock were some of the things from the hidden place in the wardrobe now displayed on the bed: some long pieces of black cloth, with Velcro on it. Several sets of nipple-clamps connected with chains, some black pieces of cloth. They looked like padded manacles and John thought that they looked like those weighted arm-bands and ankle-bands you could use when you wanted to have an extra effect when exercising. Though John had never seen them made of such a padded velvet-like fabric, nor seen them in black. But they made sense.....they could trick the body to believe that it was restrained because of the weight, but in reality the person wearing them could move, if he wanted.

There was a massage-device, meant for male anal-use, with a remote-control. When Sherlock had found the box and had shown John the content, he had smiled and said, “It was the best on the market, then....more than two years ago...and I still think it is one of the best.”

 

John could easily imagine what it could do to a man: it was shaped like a curved up-side-down 'T' and the long curved part would stimulate the prostate from the inside, while the other part would stimulate the perineum and the broad base would give a nice 'full' feeling at the same time. Oh yes...John could easily imagine how it would be to have such a devise up your arse!

 

John had fetched fresh batteries for that....and Sherlock had placed the remote on the bed-table. Clearly indicating that John was in charge of that device for now.

 

John, still wearing his T-shirt and pyjama-trousers, that were getting rather too tight around the groin-area, stepped closer to Sherlock and reached out his hand and lifted Sherlock's chin so he could look him into his eyes. They were already a bit unfocused. Maybe Sherlock had needed 'this' a bit more, than they both had thought. But John had to make sure about a few things first, before Sherlock got too lost in his body, shutting his mind down.

 

“Sherlock, Love....I need to make sure that you are coherent enough for now..”

 

And John could tell the exact moment, where Sherlock's formidable mind came back on-line again.

 

“Don't be daft, John. I trust you...and you said that you knew about this. So just go on!”

 

“No! Because this is your mind from years out in the future. But it is still the body, that was tortured, despite your effort to down-play it,.....and raped... only a very short time ago. I'm not going to do something to you, that could be a trigger. So......I'll keep on asking about safe-words and that every time I change, what I do to you. Is that clear?”

 

“Yes.....sir!”

 

John smiled, “That 'sir' isn't necessary..”

 

“But I want to use it...to show my respect, John....sir!”

 

“Well, I do not mind..so OK, Sherlock.”

  
  


And then John began to instruct Sherlock:

“Give me your hands.”

And Sherlock lifted his arms and John put the soft padded manacles around the wrists, just above the bandages. In a few days they would not be needed any more as Sherlock healed faster than anything John had ever seen. Even faster than he remembered Sherlock had done before.

  
  


John had mentioned it while he was changing Sherlock's bandages and both Sherlock and John agreed that the Erinye might have tampered with Sherlock's body. This one....from the past. That would be the only explanation for such a fast healing. Even not the magic Cornish witch-oinment of Mrs. Hudson's could have caused such a fast healing.

  
  


As John had fastened the manacles, he looked carefully at Sherlock and then he asked, “Colour, Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock paused...trying to figure out how he felt. And then he shook his head, “Yellow, John.”

 

And John nodded and removed them, but gave them back to Sherlock. “Hold them in your hands. They can ground you and you can let go of them, if you want. Colour?”

“Green....Sir.”

 

John could hear that Sherlock already slurred a bit.

 

Sherlock was instructed to lie back on his back and the padded manacles around Sherlock's ankles got the colour 'green', as did the set of nipple-clamps connected with a rather heavy chain, so every little movement would tug in the nipples.

 

John smiled as he saw that Sherlock already had put a butt-plug in his arse as a preparation for the massage-device. The sight of a pliant Sherlock on his back on the bed and the manacles around his ankles and the nipple-clamps firmly sat on Sherlock's nipples...and the thought of what he would do to him...and what Sherlock would allow John to do, did awake something dark inside John. A wave of arousal and an urge to own, claim and  _have_ this beautiful man, filled John to the bursting point and he had to take several deep breaths to calm himself down, or he would have ripped that butt-plug out and buried his cock deep inside that pliant Sherlock.

  
  


And John could easily imagine Sherlock on his hands and knees, with manacles and nipple-clamps at the receiving end of one of the floggers or whips, almost being caressed by the strings and every lash would not do so much harm, but never the less cause a burst of endorphins in Sherlock's body.

  
  


John removed the plug and nudged gently the bigger devise into Sherlock's waiting hole. Sherlock moaned and arched his back as John moved the devise so it exactly did hit Sherlock's prostate. Anatomical knowledge was a good thing.... and then John turned it on, but had put a firm hand on Sherlock's stomach. Grounding him but still avoiding to touch Sherlock's erection, that was already glistening with pre-come.

  
  


Sherlock was now lost in his bodily sensations, already on his way to sub-space, but not quite there yet. He was lying on his back. His legs a bit bend and grounded with those weighted ankle-bands and his arms down by his sides, his hands holding on to the arm-bands but able to let them go if he wanted....and now John reached for those things he had brought from the kitchen: their two litre-measure-mugs, one filled with very warm water and the other filled with ice-water and in each of them several of their steel-cutlery. John would have preferred the real stuff: those finger-sized smooth metal-cylinders used for sensory-play, but the cutlery could work.

 

John first used the very cold pieces and Sherlock almost arched of the bed as John touched Sherlock's nipples peaking out from the clamps. The deep moan made John loose his breath and he had to adjust himself in his pants.

  
  


And John continued to touch Sherlock with the very cold cutlery and the very warm pieces. None of them would do any damage, but the censorial overload would make the body interpret it as pain and flood the body with endorphins.

Sherlock moaned and moved around, but only as if he had been tethered to the bed. The weight of the padded manacles, even if he only held them in his hands, tricked his body to feel grounded, restrained and secure.

 

John had worried that it might trigger something, but it didn't. And at a point John decided to undress. The power-play in one being naked and the other one being fully dressed, even if it was in a T-shirt and pyjamas, wasn't needed now.

  
  


John could see that Sherlock was close...and that even without John touching that aching erection of Sherlock's. Sherlock's cock was hard as steel and almost purple and kept on oozing a steady stream of pre-come.....and at a point John couldn't resist anymore. He bend down and licked at the slit and stuck his tongue inside just a little bit. Sherlock moaned again and begged, “Please, sir...I need to..”

 

And John pressed the remote with his thumb as he yanked the nipple-clamps away from Sherlock's sore nipples with his right hand and said, “Come for me, Sherlock!”

 

And Sherlock came and came...and came. And that sight was enough for John as well. Just a few tugs and he was coming all over Sherlock's stomach.

 

After that, and with Sherlock still drowsy and pliant, John forced himself to be awake and removed the massage device from Sherlock's arse and cleaned both of them. And then he snuggled closer to Sherlock and Sherlock tugged John's arm and placed it over his chest, where his heart was.

 

“Thank you John. I didn't even know I needed that...”

 

“Anytime, Love...anytime!”

 

And like that they both fell asleep.

 


	20. An arsehat, a sad Christmas, cases and a wedding with a murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In short: more about the future, that now never was going to come.

As John opened his eyes early the next morning, he was looking at a sleeping Sherlock's neck and a bunch of unruly curls. They had moved during the night and now John spooned Sherlock's taller frame. Strangely enough they did fit perfectly together like that too.

 

John realised that he had a morning wood and that it was nudging Sherlock's bare arse. John couldn't help moving a bit. It felt so good. And there was enough lube left from yesterday to make the passage between Sherlock's thighs a bit slippery. It felt so incredible good and John moaned a bit.

 

He felt immediately the moment Sherlock woke, but Sherlock didn't mind the movements. Actually he squeezed his thighs closer together and made it feel even better for John.

Then he stopped and turned around and disappeared down under the duvet and John could feel Sherlock's mouth around his cock.

 

“Oh God. Sherlock...stop. Please stop!”

 

Sherlock's head appeared from under the duvet, “Why?”

 

John smiled and tried to drag Sherlock's body a bit higher up, so they could look into each others faces.

 

“Because, Love. I would like to go to the loo and make sure that I don't embarrass myself by peeing in the bed....or even worse...on you or in your mouth. I'm not into 'water-sports' and I don't suppose you are?”

 

“No....I'm not...”, said Sherlock, secretly a bit relieved that John wasn't either.

__________________________

After a visit to the loo and a shower, and a check of Sherlock's bandages, they were in the bedroom again. And John noticed that Sherlock looked a bit worried and was just standing looking at John.

 

“What is it?”, wanted John to know. He was already in bed.

 

And Sherlock sat down on the bed beside John, “It is just, I'm sorry. I didn't make sure that you came yesterday...”, Sherlock said.

 

“But that was not what is was about. It was about you...not me...” said John a bit confused.

 

“Yeah, but it is my job as a sub to make sure that you have a satisfying orgasm too, isn't it?”

 

John shook his head, “No..it is the other way round. I, as your dom, am supposed to take care of your needs and that even before my own...”

 

But Sherlock still looked confused.

 

And then John finally understood.

“Come here!”, he said and padded on his chest and Sherlock laid down and put his head on John's chest and John played with Sherlock's curls and massaged his scalp at the same time.

“Those 'doms' you had before, Sherlock, they were not 'doms', they were abusers in my eyes. When you give me the gift of your total surrender of your mind and body to me, it is my job to take care of you. Not to abuse you. It is about your needs and not mine. But believe me. I had the most amazing orgasm....just by seeing you coming and coming...and coming. Even the thought of it know, it arouses me. Feel!”

 

And Sherlock could feel the persistent erection that nudged him somewhere around his middle.

 

He looked up, “Will you allow me to take care of it know?” And then he almost purred, “......Sir!”

 

And of course John would allow him that! And after that John took care of Sherlock too. Nothing wild. Just lazy morning sex.

_______________________

Afterwards they took another shower. And they both agreed that 'vanilla' was an allright flavour in 'sex'. Sherlock hadn't needed any sort of pain to come this time. John's mouth and 2 of his fingers up in Sherlock's arse and hitting his prostate had been more than enough.

And there was still time left after their breakfast before their meeting with Mycroft and the rest of the team.

So time for more stories about the future that would never be.

 

This time Sherlock wanted to tell about it while they were sitting at their breakfast table. Being a bit more formal and John understood that Sherlock wanted to do it this way, because it was going to be difficult and doing it like this, he could make an emotional distance. Their hands were touching though, because Sherlock still needed an anchor to this reality.

“Well, the wedding.”, Sherlock began but was interrupted by John, “No...not the wedding yet. What about...you told be that we celebrated, that I had proposed to Mary. And you mentioned that the party was 'here'. Why not in my flat?”

 

“Well. You had had problems with the plumbing and your flat was not suited for guests and.....”

 

“And I had the bloody nerve to ask you?!”, wanted John to know.

 

“Well...I offered it and you said thank you. It was OK, John. It was fine...and then after New Years Ewe...”, continued Sherlock.

 

“Whoa...stop, Sherlock, Love. What about Christmas? Did we celebrate that in my flat then?”

 

Sherlock frowned, “I do not know what you and Mary did, but I....”

 

But Sherlock was again interrupted by John, “Me and Mary? But...but where were you?”

 

“Here! Here in Baker Street.”

 

“Alone?!”

 

Sherlock frowned again, “Yes...alone. I didn't want to come to the Diogenes' and be with Mycroft. He just sits there, watching people. And afterwards he wants me to deduce people's secrets too. That is not Christmas dinner. That is work.”

 

“But...but your parents?”

 

“Had finally accepted an invitation to France. John...I suppose that everybody believed that I would be with someone else. It wasn't that bad. Mycroft had arranged for a light meal on the 24th. Delivered. And a nice meal the 25th, delivered here too. Lestrade was with his wife...for the sake of the children. Molly was with her new boyfriend, Tom, I think it was and Mrs. Hudson was at her sister's. It was OK, John. It was a hundred times better than the two previous Christmases. I wasn't hungry, I was in a safe place....warm and I could play my violin. I needed practise....”

 

John had tears in his eyes as he realised how lonely and awful Sherlock's time away had been, “What an arsehat I was” he finally said, “Everybody had been. You had been gone for more than two years and no one thought of asking you? Did I at least give you a present?”

 

“A nice sweater and a fine book about bees.”

 

John shook his head, “Well at least I got one right. And you....what did you find to us?”

 

Sherlock smiled, “A nice sweater for you and Jamie Oliver's newest book about bread for Mary.”

 

John smiled and gave Sherlock's hand a light squeeze; “Well, that was two out of two. Better than me.” And then he continued, “At least I suppose I had the decency to invite you to New Years Ewe?”

 

Sherlock shook his head, “Nope. Same problem as Christmas, I think. Everybody assumed that I was invited to some body else's party. It was fine, John. I'm not much for parties anyway.”

 

“At least I could have asked,” said John, still not understanding how he could have been so mean and inconsiderate towards Sherlock.

______________________

And then Sherlock told about the cases that they had worked on together towards Spring and how the marriage had to be postponed to the 11th of August, because of the fire at the Orangery and how Sherlock had been incredible overwhelmed, when John had asked him to be the 'best man' and had told Sherlock that Sherlock was 'his best friend'.

Sherlock told how they had planned the wedding together, the 3 of them and how it sometimes had been a bit too much to have all that stuff at Baker Street, but Mary's and John's flat was being re-decorated and they couldn't have the stuff there.

 

“And I offered that you could plan it here myself, “ said Sherlock.

 

Then Sherlock told a bit more about their cases, those before the wedding. Especially more about the guardsman Bainbridge and how John had saved the man.

Sherlock told more about their 'stag-night' on the 21st of July and how it had ended up with only John and Sherlock and how Sherlock had had to alter the plans in the last minute, because the last remaining other participant, Lestrade, had been too busy with a case. John's rugby-buddies couldn't come and neither could Mike Stamford or Bill Murray as they both had gotten ill. And Sherlock told about how plastered they had gotten, falling asleep on the staircase only 2 hours after they had left Baker Street. How they had played the Rizzla-game after their 'nap' and he told that Mrs. Hudson had allowed a client in.

 

“I suppose that she had had just one too many of her 'herbal soothers'. Normally she would have hesitated, if she knew that we were not able to work. And she should have been able to see that we were drunk.”

 

Sherlock told how he had barely been able to remember his own name and had vomited on the carpet in the dead man's flat, where to their client still had the key and had let them in. How they had been thrown in the sobering-up-cell afterwards and Lestrade had got them out the morning after, but had been an arsehole about it and hadn't noticed that Sherlock had panicked.

 

“Oh, Love, you thought you were back in Serbia, didn't you?”, asked John.

 

“For a few seconds, yes.”, answered Sherlock.

 

And then finally Sherlock told more about the wedding. How Sholto had come to the wedding after all and how Sherlock had made people cry, because he had managed to make 'the best 1st man's speech' ever as Lestrade had said. And Sherlock told how he had solved the case with the 'Mayfly-man' and the attempted murder on Bainbridge and..

 

“And that someone had planned to murder Major Sholto at your wedding as well.”

 

Sherlock paused and looked at John.

 

“Well, I never......you did that simultaneously while giving your first man's speech?”, wanted John to know, not worrying about the attempted murder on James as it would never happen now.

 

“Well, it might have been shown, as I was a bit distracted as I found out during the speech”, said Sherlock.

 

“What gave it away?”

 

“Something I heard and something I saw and a remark about your wedding, that a client had made. She was the nurse who had dated the 'dead' man from the stag-night flat and she had known your middle-name and suddenly it 'clicked' and I just knew someone was going to murder James Sholto. Or to be more correct. Had murdered him already!”

 

And then Sherlock told about the long needle with the heavy sedation, that had been stabbed deep into muscle-tissue in the back of the victims, so the victims wouldn't feel a thing. How the needle had released a small gelatine capsule and as soon as the pressure from the thight uniform-belt would be released, the capsule would burst and release an anti-coagulant chemical and cause internal bleeding in the victims and they would die within hours, slowly bleeding to death without feeling anything but an uneasiness.

“And then we rushed to James Sholto's room. You and Mary insulted me, I persuaded James to accept treatment instead of saying and meaning: “ _one should embrace death when it comes – like a soldier.”_ and think that “ _When so many want you dead, it hardly seems good manners to argue_ _._ ”

 

John chuckled, “Well, that sounds exactly like James. He has always been a bit melodramatic. But what do you mean by 'I insulted you'?”

 

“You told me that I instead of being a 'drama-queen' should find out how James had been attempted murdered. And it turned out it was the photographer. We'll have to do something about him now."

 

 

John shook his head, “So I insulted you and accused you of being a drama-queen, while you managed to solve the murder-attempt on James and all that while simultaneously giving the best first man speech ever?”

 

“Yes...it pretty much covers it, I would say.”, said Sherlock.

 

“What an arsehat and dickhead I've been.”, said John.

 

Sherlock smiled and rose and went over to John and bent down and kissed him before he said, “No....not 'have been'. Just “is now never going to be”....I hope.”

 

John rose and took Sherlock's head gently between his hands and said, “No....never. I'm never going to be that mean towards you. Never! Unless you put a head in our fridge again!”

 

"I'm sorry. I was testing you. And it was a prop!".

 

And then it was time to get dressed and go to the meeting with Mycroft and his team. And plan the downfall of Lord Moran and Magnussen.

_______________________________

During the next weeks the British Intelligence managed to catch Lord Moran almost 'red-handed', as he bought and transported explosives and as the blue-prints of the bomb was found under the floorboards in a flat, Lord Moran had rented under a false name. And 'oh glee and joy'...Magnussen had broken his own principles and had been involved in that attack too. Not enough to join Lord Moran in jail, but enough of it to be a threat against his freedom, and with Sherlock's knowledge about no vaults existing under Appledore and Magnussen's plans of abducting John Watson.....both the script for that and the plans for the bombing of the parliament along with a lot of other stuff was found.......in the vaults under Magnussen's office-building, there was enough to pacify Magnussen. To 'remove the teeth from the shark' as Sherlock had said it.

 

John could see that something was bothering Sherlock, both as he saw Magnussen's PA being arrested and the office-building itself. But John decided to wait until they were back in Baker Street, before he would ask.

__________________________

As soon as they were safely back upstairs in 221B , John grappled Sherlock's head between his hands, forcing Sherlock to bend down a bit and kissed him. Not as a beginning to 'something more', but a tender and caring kiss. Then John did let go of Sherlock and said firmly, “I'm going to make us a cuppa and fetch us something to eat. Meanwhile you sit on the couch and make yourself comfortable. We still have a lot to discuss and you can always start with why you became so upset this evening.”

 

During the weeks, where MI5 had investigated Lord Moran and Magnussen both John and Sherlock had talked more about their past and Sherlock a bit more about the future-not-to -come. But he had avoided to tell more about Janine...or more about the Magnussen-case or for that matter, how John had rejected Sherlock after the wedding and the almost fatal shot from Mary.

And he hadn't told about the threats from those three: Mary, Janine and Magnussen as he had been in hospital, deadly wounded by Mary's shot. He couldn't find a way to tell it. But seeing the office-building tonight and Janine, even if she hadn't been his false fiancé in this version of time, had brought back bad memories......and now he would have to tell John.

 


	21. The rest of the story

This time Sherlock felt more comfortable by lying in John's arms on the couch, with John's arms firmly around him, when he had to 'walk the road' of bad memories.

Sherlock took a deep breath before he started:

“I haven't told you everything yet. Not even about the wedding.....” and there Sherlock paused and waited for a confirming 'hmm' from John.

 

And then Sherlock told how Janine, Magnussen's PA, had been Mary's 'first maid'. “I suppose Mary got to know her on purpose and would use their 'friendship' later. And so she did. And I did too. But more about that later.”

 

Sherlock told how Mary had teased Sherlock with John's relationship to Sholto. How she, with a few words. had implied, that she had John's confidence and Sherlock not, since John had apparently only spoken about Sholto with her. Then Sherlock continued talking about Sholto being fetched by helicopter to be brought to a hospital and how Sherlock, after the apprehension of Sholto's 'murderer' had played the waltz, he had written originally for John, but had changed to be for John and Mary, as they had danced their 'bridal waltz' and how he had deduced that Mary was pregnant and how he had realised, that he would hardly have a place in John's and Mary's live now and as he had looked around, he felt that everybody had someone....except from him.

 

“And then I went to my room. Dressed in my normal clothing and left everything, including my violin, with a note for Mrs. Hudson to please bring it back to Baker Street...and left the wedding early, just as Mrs. Hudson had predicted.”

 

Sherlock became silent and John gave him a firm hug, “And nobody thought of asking where you had gone?”, John asked.

 

“Molly saw me leave...”

 

Now it was John's turn to be silent for a moment and then he wanted to know, “What happened then?”

 

Sherlock huffed, “My brother had of course anticipated that, and there was a car waiting for me. Even my magic skills in cab-hailing doesn't work in the middle of the night out in the country-side.”

Sherlock paused and then he continued, “I went home and took something from my hidden stash. I decided that now would be a good time, and I had to convince both Mycroft and Magnussen that I had relapsed. I didn't take more than a small amount that night...and just enough to....cope....even if it is a petty excuse. And then I buried myself in my next case for the next month.”

 

“Oh Sherlock..”, was the only thing John could say. John felt an ache in his chest over such a sad and lonely Sherlock...even if it now never was going to happen now.

 

Sherlock continued, “I better tell the rest. It is emotionally straining and I think it is best to get it out and then be able to put it away...”

 

“Hmm...yes I think so, too. Do you need something?”

 

“No...just your arms around me, John. That would be nice. Maybe something afterwards..”

 

And then Sherlock told about how John had been furious and had told Sherlock to: ….”bugger off”, “fuck off” and “piss off”.

 

“In that order”, said Sherlock and continued, “.... after I had tried to write something nice, and I can admit that too...a bit sarcastic. I obeyed you and stayed away and thought that you finally had had enough of me. I had planned your wedding and you told me to fuck off.... so I stayed away.”

 

John gave Sherlock yet another hug and kissed his curls, “So...besides being a cock, an arse-hat and a dick-head, I continued to hurt you?”

 

Sherlock slumped further down into John's arms, “Yeah...you did and we didn't see each other until more than a month after the wedding. Maybe you were waiting for me to contact you, but you had been so harsh against me, that I decided that the contact should be made by you...”

 

“No wonder..”, said John, who couldn't understand 'the other John'...how this 'future-John' could have been so mean.

 

And then Sherlock told about how he had been working on that Magnussen-case, hired by Lady Smallwood. How he had pretended to be in a relationship with Janine...

 

“Hmm, how did you manage...the more intimate part, Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock smiled and lifted his head so he could look John into his eyes, “Jealous?”

 

John shook his head, “I am...and would not have been, in any position where I could have allowed myself to be jealous. I had shagged a lot of women, as I lived with you....and I was married in that future. But I suppose I _was_....jealous?”

 

Sherlock positioned himself deeper in John's arms, “I admit, that I wanted you to be jealous. So you could feel just a little pit of the pain, that you had made _me_ feel. Childish, I know. And I had told Janine that I had ...certain...problems, because I had been tortured. I showed her a bit of the scars on my back. And she said that she understood. She really was a sweet girl.....or appeared to be so. Like a lot of others, she had a hidden agenda too. She was the sister to a person we had met more than 3 years ago. A man that disappeared....”

 

John frowned, remembered how she had looked as he saw her this afternoon and...and then he understood, “Oh my. She was Richard Brooks' sister?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What happened to him? For a while I thought that HE was Moriarty...”

 

Sherlock shook his head, “No. On closer examination you could see differences. But he was very similar. It is being said, that we all have a doppelgänger somewhere. Richard's doppelgänger was, unfortunately for him, a full-blooded devil from another world. But there were differences: Richard was right-handed and Jim was ambidextrous. Their eyes weren't of the same brown colour. Richard's hair was one or two shades brighter. But their looks were close enough for Richard, who was an excellent actor, to be able to pass for being Moriarty. Richard had been hired to do that at quite a few occasions. But in the end it killed him. Moriarty's men couldn't have a look-a-like waltzing around and Richard was 'removed' and disappeared.”

 

“Poor guy. And 'doppelgänger'...it is funny. Do you remember that film we saw? “Hitch-hikers guide to the Galaxy”?

 

Sherlock groaned, “That awful film?”

 

“It wasn't that bad. But you said that I looked a lot like that 'Arthur Dent'. That I looked like that actor playing him?”

 

“Yeah, I do remember. And you said that I looked exactly like that creepy guy in 'Atonement'!”

 

“Yeah...sort of. At least you had a similar nose. But Sherlock?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“You are a hundred times more handsome than that guy!”

 

Sherlock smiled, “And you look so much better than that poor guy in his shaggy green dressing-gown.”

 

And they began to kiss.

_______________________

And after some more kissing Sherlock wanted to tell the rest. And so he did. How John had found him in that drug-den, while he was searching for their neighbour's son Isaac. How Sherlock had been forced to the laboratory...together with Wiggins, that Sherlock made a remark about having to help him a bit better this time: Getting him away from the streets for good this time.

 

“A brilliant mind, John. But with a childhood full of neglect and poor education and no chances. I know how to help him better this time...”

 

And John understood, that Sherlock saw that Wiggins could have been his own destiny, if Sherlock had been less fortunate.

 

Sherlock told how John had yelled at him and Molly had slapped him. How John had been so jealous and how Mycroft had threatened them both and ordered them to stay away from Magnussen, as they had gone back to Baker Street, where Mycroft had been waiting for Sherlock. Mycroft had 'bought' that Sherlock had relapsed too. Sherlock told, how he had forced Mycroft to leave, almost breaking Mycroft's arm and how John had been shocked as Janine had appeared from the bedroom.

Then Sherlock told about how Magnussen and his goons had arrived, how Magnussen had pissed in the fireplace....

 

”He did what?!”, said John.

 

But Sherlock just continued to tell about the events of that evening. How John had agreed to come along. How Sherlock had found out that Magnussen had Lord Smallwood's letters in London. How Sherlock had pretended to propose to Janine to be allowed inside and all the way up to Magnussen's office and the private pent-house-flat on the top of the building.

 

“Magnussen was supposed to be away that evening. To some early Christmas-event for megalomaniac media-magnates...or something like that. But he had gotten ill...and not even Janine had known, that he hadn't left.”, told Sherlock.

 

And had continued, “As we came to the level just below the flat, we found a man and Janine unconscious. Both knocked out and something that indicated that the intruder or intruders were still there. You stayed by Janine, as she was wounded. I went carefully upstairs and found Magnussen kneeling in his bedroom with an armed black-clad person in front of him, pointing at him with a gun with a silencer and her or his back towards me....”

 

Sherlock paused....this was difficult, but John waited patiently.

 

“I...I tried to deduce the person in front of me, by her perfume, and thought it to be Lady Smallwood. But it was Mary......and I should have guessed by the look on Magnussen's face. He was terrified, but not for his life. Mary knew, that if she shot him, the informations about her would be given free and her enemies would find her and in a few months she would be hindered by her pregnancy and not be able to fight.”

 

“Jesus...” said John,”...Mary....Well it is not so much a surprise, knowing about her devil-genes. But....but it must have been quite a surprise to you. Hadn't you seen that? That she wasn't 'Mary Morstan'?”

 

“No...I hadn't allowed myself to look too deep into her. You loved her. Had proposed to her. And even if she had quite a few secrets, I could see that, you had chosen _her_. Not _me_. And I couldn't blame you. That her lie was so much bigger than mine...well I hadn't seen that. You do know....love turns people blind.”

 

“Yeah.....I didn't see it either. But I fell in love with a glossy picture, I see that now. And what happened next? Did she shoot Magnussen after all?”

 

“Nope....she shot me!”

 

John went totally still and Sherlock could hear and feel that John took a deep breath, “Let me get this right. She shot you about two months after I married her......and I stayed by her long enough to see Minna being born and be christened. Didn't I know? How did you survive?!”

 

Because Sherlock had survived long enough to meet the Erinye.

 

And then Sherlock told about Magnussen phoning for an ambulance, while Mary and Sherlock talked, just before she shot him.

 

“Her signature shot. Not enough to kill a person immediately. Either nicking the top of the liver, the 'inferior vena cava' or in my case nicking my pericardium. To wound a soldier instead of killing him, is sometimes a lot smarter: a wounded solder can't be left behind, and she knew you were in the building and by wounding me lethally, she would buy herself time to escape and return home, before you found out that it had been her, because you would try to save my life. She never expected me to survive though. And it was a close call. I flat-lined twice in the ambulance and twice on the operating table. In the hospital they had given up operating on a dead man and had turned away and put the pen on the death-certificate as the bullet moved and tore the hole in the pericardium a bit bigger and drained the blood and made it possible for my heart to beat again...”

 

“But...if they had turned away. How did they restart your heart?”

 

“They didn't. I did. I had sought refuge in my Mind-palace to avoid dying from shock and I found something that scared me so much that adrenaline flooded my body and restarted my heart...”

 

John gave Sherlock a firm hug, “Only you would, in your dying moment, think of something like that. My brilliant, brilliant detective....”

 

Sherlock turned his head so he could look at John, “Well...I do recall that someone I know, did something similar?”

 

John smiled, “Yeah...I did. Didn't I?”

 

And then Sherlock told about the threats from those three: Mary, Janine and Magnussen as he had been in hospital, deadly wounded by Mary's shot. How he had planned to tell John about Mary, in a way that would keep John by Mary's side....and Sherlock alive.

He told about Leinster Garden and the facade-house and how John and Sherlock had accepted Mary as their client, when they all three of them had gone back in Baker Street 221B. How Sherlock had been put back into hospital again and how he, after he had been almost healed close to Christmas, had brewed a plan that could end Magnussen.

 

“And there I made a real fuck up. You'd have to forgive Mary to keep me safe. I had just told you, that you had to and you didn't seem to mind. If you had left her, she would have killed me, I'm sure of that. Or even worse: she would have let me watch as she killed you! And she was everything I was: danger, excitement and at the same time everything that I wasn't: considerate, a beautiful woman and mother of your coming child. So...as that was settled, I just had to eliminate the threat from Magnussen. I made a trap....and it was released around my own neck.”

 

And then Sherlock told everything about Appledore. How Magnussen had taunted them, gloating in his own power, flicking John in his face, just to show his power. And Sherlock said:

“I grappled your pistol and shot him. In front of Mycroft and a lot of MI5 people. I did expect to be shot on the spot and shouted to you that you should stay away from me.....”

 

“Fuck!”, was everything John was able to say. Then he gathered himself together and hugged Sherlock even tighter, “Jesus...Love. You said once that you weren't a hero. But you were. Doing all that for me. Because you genuinely thought that it was what I wanted. How can I ever pay you back for so much love? Oh God Sherlock. I love you so much and I swear that I'll do anything in the world to deserve such a love from you. Anything!”

 

Sherlock turned his face and looked at John, “You don't have to do more than you are doing right now.”

 

Sherlock turned his head and snuggled again deeper into John's arms, “I have everything, I've ever dreamt of. This...you and me....it is perfect!

 

And so close to each other as it was physically possible, Sherlock ended his story about the future-that-would-never-be, about his exile, about the false return of Moriarty, about the birth of Minna, about the disease and ended up again where he had met the Erinye out in the future and had been given a second chance.

 

And all the time, as Sherlock told about everything, John held Sherlock tight and thanked the God, that he somehow had begun believing in again, for this second chance....and swore to himself, that he would never, never let Sherlock down. Never!

 


	22. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last bit. Just in time before season 4 airs.

After Sherlock had finished his narrative, John insisted on that they got something to eat and as Mrs. Hudson had left some sandwiches in the fridge, it wasn't difficult to find something eat-able.

 

They ended up on the couch again, just ..it was now John who was lying on Sherlock's chest and stomach. But not before John had made sure, that it wouldn't hurt Sherlock's back in any way.

 

“What I can't get my head around, Sherlock, is how I was in that future. I know I'm not perfect, with my hot temper...and grumpiness. After all...it was a miracle that Stamford found me a flatmate.”

John turned his head so he could look at Sherlock, “But how could I.....no, let me put it this way: what factors were different, since that future-John could be so mean, so cruel, so blind and disregarding of your feelings? How could he not be happy that you had returned? Why did he stay with Mary? And why on Earth did he stay with her after she fucking shot you!? And he fucking knew, for God's sake?!”

 

John shook his head, “I just can't recognize myself...”

 

Sherlock tightened his arms around John, “First and foremost, that 'Sherlock' betrayed your trust. He didn't tell you anything and you just thought.....well....somehow...that I had done it to hurt you. That 'Sherlock' didn't tell you about the snipers and how he had almost gotten killed and never had been able to return during those more than two years away. He never told about the torture and never the whole truth about 'Mary'...not even after she shot him...me. He didn't keep his mouth shot to harm you or because he didn't trust you. He kept silent until it was far far too late to say anything, because he believed yours “I'm not gay”.....and never in his wildest dreams thought he could have anything more than 'friendship' and not even that....”

 

John interrupted, “And yet...that Sherlock, you, would walk through hell, to give me..him...what he wanted. Oh Sherlock, love. How can I ever pay you back?”

 

“By being here, now, with me. And you asked what could have caused that change and I only told you about one of the factors: that Sherlock didn't dare to tell you the truth. The other factor was 'Mary'. In the other version of time, you were so much together with her, before we saw each other again. And she manipulated you. She had this ability to say something apparently innocent and yet so hurting. Always chipping away small pieces of your self-esteem. Believe me, I've been there...and you had her 'attention' full-time for a long time. No wonder you changed so much...”

 

John shuddered, “You bet that I changed. I can hardly recognize myself in your stories. Thank God that not only you, but I got a second chance too. So...what know? I suppose we have work to do?”

 

“We have, but not until tomorrow. Magnussen has been dealt with, the devils are out of the way. Mycroft owes me so many favours......and you are here in Baker Street. Who could ask for more?”

 

John's eyes turned a darker shade of blue as he turned his head and looked at Sherlock, “Well...if everything is in order and we have no emergencies, there are a few things I would like to spend my time on doing......in our bedroom. Involving some nakedness and some lube...if you are amenable?”

 

And now John could see the same change in Sherlock's eyes: the pupils dilating so only a small part of Sherlock's moon-stone irises was to be seen.

 

“Oh yes...very much so!”

______________________________  
  


And here I leave them. The two of them. Back in Baker Street 221B. As it is meant to be. Let's just hope that Season 4 will put them back there somehow...together. Just the two of them against the rest of the world.

This story started with a picture from 'Set-lock 4' and grew a bit bigger than I had imagined. I hope you enjoyed the ride :-)

  
  


 


End file.
